Avalon in Arms
by potterlad81
Summary: Harry finally takes up the roll he was born to fill, and Albus Dumbledore isn't happy at all. A new power rises to defeat Voldemort and reshape Magical Britain. This is for those who like magic mixed with muggle technology and a good war story.
1. Chapter 1

**AVALON IN ARMS**

A/N: Warning... this chapter has a lot of world building. Stick it out... there's action in later chapters. Also, after my scene breaks failed to import (why doesn't ff like plus signs?) and my first replacement scene breaks went unnoticed by several reviewers, I've added large, ugly scene breaks. They're not pretty, but hopefully they work.

 **Chapter 1: The Mists of Avalon**

Sirius was dead, to begin with. All Harry's hopes and dreams for some semblance of a future had collapsed in the last week with the death of his godfather. The words Dumbledore had given him provided no solace.

Harry realized for the first time that he was going to die. The prophecy basically guaranteed it. He didn't know enough to stop Voldemort. Dumbledore wasn't teaching him anything. The one specialized lesson he'd had—occlumency—had failed spectacularly for want of a proper teacher. Voldemort was going to win. If he were younger he'd break down and cry, but he was a veteran now. Harry was numb.

While Ron and Hermione talked quietly with Neville, Luna, and Ginny, Harry stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express, absent-mindedly watching the countryside slip by. It was sunny and warm outside, but to Harry it felt cloying and stuffy inside. They were going home. He was returning to the bleeding Dursleys. It was sure to be a banner summer there, considering how well it went before he left last year. Harry sighed.

His mood didn't improve when the trolley lady dropped by. Harry got, but barely touched, his slice of treacle tart. He didn't fancy the pre-packaged ones, much preferring the fresh-made ones. He took a bite and sighed again, looking at the pudding. It tasted processed. Without a word, he stood and carried the tart into the corridor. He moved to the front of the carriage, where he knew the wash room had a bin.

Exiting the loo, he nearly knocked over a classmate. She was his height, with mousy brown hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a pale complexion. She hadn't changed out of her Hufflepuff robes yet. He recognized her instantly, but he didn't really know her, though they'd shared classes. He was far better acquainted with her housemates Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. She was Megan Jones, and she was blocking his path.

"Can I speak to you a moment?" she asked. She had a breathy, sing-song accent, common to the Welsh people.

"Erm… OK," Harry agreed, surprised.

"This way," she said, walking back toward his compartment. She didn't elaborate, so he followed. She opened the door to the compartment next to Harry's, and held it open for him. Inside was an older witch, who looked similar to Megan. To his surprise, he knew her. Megan closed the door behind them. "This is my sister, Hestia."

"Yes," Harry said, surprised. "I remember you. You're part of the Order."

"Yep," she agreed. Her accent was almost identical to Megan's. "I am part of the Order of the Phoenix. I'd like to talk to you about that." She motioned for him to sit. Harry sat opposite her, and Megan joined him.

"So, how long am I to be at my Aunt and Uncles' this time?" he asked, resigned.

"You're not to go there at all," she replied, shocking Harry.

"Am I to go straight to Grimmauld Place?" he asked.

"Harry," she said, reaching across and taking his hand. "I just want to say I was quite sorry to hear about Sirius. I know he meant a great deal to you."

"Thanks," Harry said genuinely. "I miss him."

"There's some administrative business I need to take care of first," Hestia said. She pulled out her wand and waved it around him. Glowing red spots appeared around his body. "That makes things easier."

"What?" Harry asked.

"The red dots are tracking charms," she replied. "If you'd had blue dots, those would've been listening charms, but you don't have. You actually did me a favour earlier when you destroyed Dumbledore's office."

"What? Why?" Harry was shaken.

"All those whirring silver instruments that puffed smoke?" she reminded him.

"Yeah?" he acknowledged.

"Those were tracking devices keyed to your blood," Hestia explained, as she began dispelling the tracking charms. "They tracked your location far better than any tracking spell, and couldn't be removed. They also reported the state of the wards at the Dursleys. Now that they're destroyed, Dumbledore had to revert to using the charms. He's also doubled the guard on the Dursleys' house."

"So the headmaster put tracking charms on me?" Harry asked, not quite surprised.

"Yep," Hestia replied. "But I'm taking them off. It's important."

"Why?" Harry asked, not really understanding what was going on.

"Well, we don't want him to know where you'll be," Hestia replied, as though it were obvious.

"We don't?" Harry asked, confused. "Why not?"

"Do you want to spend another summer at the Dursleys?" Megan asked.

"No," Harry allowed.

"Do you want to learn about your family?" Megan asked.

"Yes," Harry said, then looked questioningly at Hestia. "But, you're in the Order…"

"I'm in the Order to keep an eye on you," she revealed. "Megan's been keeping an eye on you at school." That shocked Harry to the core. His discomfort grew into alarm.

"You're… you're not Death Eaters, are you?" he asked. "Show me your arms!" He had his wand out quickly, pointing it at Hestia.

"Relax, Harry," Megan said as Hestia raised her arms in surrender. "We're not Death Eaters. She pulled up her own sleeve, revealing a clear arm. Hestia, after putting her wand down, did likewise.

"We are actually pledged to search for you, and look after you," Hestia said. "When Dumbledore put you and your parents under the Fidelius in 1981, we were worried because we'd lost track of you. When your parents died and Dumbledore absconded with you we lost track of you again, and we spent years trying to track you down. We knew how old you'd be, and Megan was recruited to attend Hogwarts so that she'd be near you…"

"I tried to get into Gryffindor, but the damned hat stuck me in Hufflepuff," Megan revealed, brushing her hair out of her face behind her ear.

"If you don't work for Professor Dumbledore, and you aren't Death Eaters, who do you work for?" Harry asked.

"I can't tell you here," Hestia stated firmly. She raised her wand. "I swear on my magic that it is not my intent to hurt you now, or in the future, or to allow you to be hurt by others, and that I am working in what I believe is your best interest at this time. So mote it be." She finished the magical oath and waved her wand, which released a shower of yellow sparks. "Does that satisfy you for now?"

"I suppose," Harry said warily.

"Harry," Megan pressed. "We really are very much on your side; probably the only people in Britain who are."

"What about Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna and Ginny?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't trust the Weasleys any farther than I could throw them," Megan admitted. "They're not bad people, but they look out for themselves first, and others second. Don't you remember how Ron abandoned you during the Triwizard Tournament? As for Hermione, she certainly cares for you, and I'm quite certain you can count her as a friend, but she's still got a lot to learn about authority and the abuse of it. Neville's a decent bloke, I'll admit, but he's not your best mate, is he? And Luna, strange as she is, seems to be independent enough to be trustworthy, but you've only just begun your friendship with her. Her loyalties don't yet lie with you, or at least, not exclusively."

"So… um… What's the plan?" Harry asked, looking between the two women.

"First, we need to get your things," Hestia said.

"OK," Harry said, standing.

"Wait!" Megan said. "We can't let anyone see you leaving with your trunk."

"Go back to your compartment," Hestia instructed. "Wait until the train gets to King's Cross. Delay. Be the last one to leave the compartment. We'll come get you and portkey to our destination from the train."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"I can't say here," Hestia chided. "Once we get where we're going, I'll explain everything."

"OK," Harry agreed. "I'll go back and wait for you." Without another word, he exited the compartment, and rejoined his friends.

"Where've you been?" Ron asked.

"Loo," Harry replied, taking his seat. A thought occurred to him. "Can I get your addresses?" he asked.

"You already know where we live," Ron rebuffed. "What'd'ya need our address for?"

"Well, I don't need _your_ address," Harry allowed. "But Hermione, Neville, and Luna, I've no idea. I might want to write them over the summer, even if you're not allowed to write back." Without a word, Hermione pulled out a scrap of parchment and wrote down her address. She then passed it to Luna, who passed it on to Neville, who handed it to Harry. He read:

 _Hermione Granger_

 _2 Holmesdale Road_

 _Richmond, England TW9 3JZ_

 _0181 815 9945_

 _Luna Lovegood_

 _Thomas' Tower_

 _Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon_

 _Neville Longbottom_

 _Long Hall_

 _St. Ives, Cambridgeshire_

"Brilliant," he said. "Thanks guys."

"The headmaster didn't say anything to me about not writing you this summer," Hermione said. "So you'd better write, because I will be."

"Don't worry," Harry agreed with a smile. "I will."

"It's good to see you smiling again, Harry," Luna observed dreamily. "The wrackspurts that were around your head earlier are all gone."

"Erm…" Harry mumbled. "Sure. Thanks, Luna."

"So when are you coming to visit us, Harry?" Ginny asked, hopefully.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "Dumbledore didn't say much one way or the other."

"I hope you come soon," Ginny revealed. "I want you to teach me some seeker moves. I'm hoping to take your job when you graduate."

"That won't be for two more years," Harry chuckled.

"Exactly," Ginny smiled. "I need to start practising now!" Harry pocketed the slip of parchment and relaxed. The six friends continued to gossip and make small talk for another hour before the train pulled in to Platform 9¾. Harry, sitting next to the window, helped everyone else get their luggage down. They left the compartment one by one. Ginny, across from him, was the last one in the compartment. Harry helped her with her trunk, and watched her leave, pretending to fumble with Hedwig's cage.

Once she was gone, Harry pulled down his own trunk, then sat and glanced out the window, spotting Mad Eye Moody, Remus, and Tonks on the platform. Harry pulled down the shade on the window, obscuring the compartment. The door clicked open, revealing Megan and Hestia.

"Ready?" Hestia asked. Harry stood and nodded. She pointed her wand at his trunk and shrunk it. "Put your trunk in your pocket and get the cage. Then grab on." She pulled out a piece of rope. Harry and Megan each grabbed an end, and Hestia tapped her wand to the rope. Harry felt the hook in his navel as the portkey pulled him.

His feet hit the ground moments later in an alley between a wall and a large building. They were standing between two rather dirty skips. It was very noisy.

"Come along," she said.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"London City Airport," Hestia replied. "Our plane's waiting."

"Why're we taking a plane?" Harry asked. "Wouldn't it be faster to portkey?"

"We can't portkey where we're going, and I'd like to avoid the international floo terminal, as that'll tip them off," Hestia explained.

"Tip who off?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore and the Order," Hestia told him.

"Oh," Harry said, dumbly. They passed the edge of the building and Harry saw a small business jet with an RAF roundel sitting alone on the tarmac in front of them. They appeared to be heading towards it.

They were greeted at the base of the stairs by a flight attendant wearing a military uniform.

"Welcome aboard, sir," she said with the same Welsh accent that the Jones sisters had. "Please take a seat, and we can depart." Harry smiled at her, and boarded the plane. It was surprisingly roomy.

"Expansion charms," Hestia said as he looked around. "This plane's got quite a few tricks up its' sleeve."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"Yep," Hestia nodded before taking a seat. "For one, the engines are jets, but they don't use fuel. They have runes that conjure fire, and that's what moves the engines. At least, that's how it was explained to me. It gives them unlimited range. There's the expansion charms, obviously. Let's see…"

"Magical communication suite," the flight attendant added, appearing behind them.

"Right," Hestia allowed.

"Also, we have magically expanded cargo storage with feather-light runes," the flight attendant continued. "Magical control equipment instead of cables or fly-by-wire, magically strengthened skin, sound dampening runes, and magical navigation equipment. It means we can fly fifty percent faster than a standard Hawker Dominie, more safely, with more cargo, and with less work for the pilots."

"Wow," Harry said, looking around.

"Anyway," the flight attendant said. "Welcome aboard the Royal Flight. My name is Sergeant Downes, and I'll be your flight attendant today. Flight time to destination is one hour twenty-five minutes. If you'll buckle your seatbelts I'll describe the safety features of this Hawker-Avalon Dominie C.1 aircraft. There are two exits…"

Harry listened politely, not expecting the plane to crash. He wondered where exactly he was going. It was interesting that this was part of the Royal Air Force—the Royal Flight at that—plus it was magical, which astounded him. It meant the RAF knew about magic. Harry supposed that it made sense. The Minister for Magic did meet with the Prime Minister, after all.

When Sgt. Downes finished, she sat down in a jump seat at the front of the aircraft. While she'd been talking, the plane had started to roll. Moments after she'd taken her seat, the engines throttled up and the plane surged down the runway. Harry watched out the window as the plane lifted into the air. As they pulled away from the ground, Harry could make out the Tower of London passing just north of them. As the plane increased its height and turned slightly south, he could make out the place he'd just left: King's Cross Station.

"So, I assume you've quite a few questions," Hestia said. "We're safe now, so you can go ahead and ask them."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked first.

"Avalon," Hestia said. "It's where Megan and I are from."

"What? You mean like the King Arthur, Knights of the Round Table, Excalibur kind of Avalon?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"That was about fifteen hundred years ago, but yeah," Hestia allowed.

"This aeroplane is going to take us to Avalon?" Harry persisted.

"Yes, Harry," Hestia said solidly. "Avalon is a real kingdom. The island of Avalon is located about a hundred sixty kilometres west south-west of Land's End. Our closest neighbour are the Scilly Islands, about a hundred fifteen kilometres away."

"But…" Harry sputtered. "I thought Avalon was in Somerset. I mean, I thought…"

"You thought what Avalon wanted British magicals to think," Hestia explained. "This is going to be a bit of a history lesson, so buckle up.

"The Island of Avalon was discovered by magical seafarers from England in prehistoric times," Hestia began. "Like Ireland, it was never occupied by Romans. Though known to muggles, Avalon was deemed unimportant enough and too remote to invade. Over time, both magical and muggle trade was established with Ireland and France, but primarily with Britain. Avalon was on such good relations with its primary trading partner, Dumnonia, that the two were merged.

"From 480, the Kingdom of Avalon comprised of the Island of Avalon and Dumnonia, which is now known as the counties of Devon and Cornwall," Hestia continued. "Most of the magicals lived in Avalon, while the muggles lived in Dumnonia. There was quite a bit of overlap, however. It's one of the reasons that so many magicals live in Devon today. Avalon's ownership of Dumnonia was slowly reduced by war over the course of a century. It was fully lost to the kings of Wessex by 825, leaving only the Island of Avalon unconquered.

"In 830, Avalon fully withdrew from the non-magical world, sequestering itself under a Fidelius charm; one of the first ever done. They did this because the kingdom was still in turmoil following the loss of Dumnonia, and they felt they were in no place to defend themselves should the Saxons or Vikings arrive on their shores. This charm was broken in 1125, but by then, stout wards of unprecedented strength protected Avalon from both Muggles and Magicals, and no one living outside of Avalon remembered the Kingdom existed. We did little to help them remember.

"For centuries Avalon existed apart. The kingdom rejoined the world in 1350, when King Hector travelled to Britain and met with King Edward III. King Hector wanted to establish trade, as Avalon had developed large farms and production centres, and could benefit from selling things to the English. Hector did not, however, reveal the existence of Avalon to the Wizard's Council in Britain, and the English monarchs continued to hide it from the Ministry of Magic when that replaced the Wizard's Council. This was done at the request of the Avalonian monarchs. Avalon chooses to abide by the statute of secrecy by sequestering itself from the non-magical world, rather than attempting to hide magic from the few muggles on the islands."

"That's… Wow," Harry stammered. "I can't believe Avalon's been hidden for so long."

"Today," Hestia explained. "Avalon is a fully modern place. We're far more advanced than Magical Britain. We have electricity and motors. We use magic, but in harmony with technology. Magical tech is one of our key exports. That, and food."

"Food?" Harry asked.

"Avalon provides around fifty percent of Magical Britain's food," Hestia said. "We disguise ourselves as Welsh, Irish, or French traders as necessary. Most of the Avalonian fleet uses the Manx flag as a flag of convenience, with the blessing of the British monarch."

"So, is this a big place?" Harry asked.

"About 26,000 square kilometres," Hestia shrugged. "The closest country in size is Rwanda in Africa, but if you're looking closer to home, think a bit bigger than Wales."

"You sound Welsh," Harry observed.

"Well, we're descended from ancient Britons, just like the Welsh, and they were our closest allies before Dumnonia was lost," Hestia agreed. "I think we feel something of a kinship with them."

"So is Camelot real?" Harry wanted to know.

"It's the capital of Avalon," Megan interjected.

"Are you from there?" Harry asked.

"No," Megan said. "We're from Port Arthur."

"The Jones' have something of a seafaring tradition," Hestia said, as though that explained things.

"OK," Harry said, unsure of himself.

"Port Arthur's the second largest city in Avalon, and the largest port," Megan explained, seeing Harry was lost. "Camelot's the biggest city, with about forty thousand people…"

"Forty thousand?!" Harry asked, shocked. "How many people are there in this country?"

"About a hundred fifty… hundred sixty thousand, if you count the elves and goblins," Hestia said. "Most people do."

"There are a hundred sixty thousand magical people in Avalon?" Harry could hardly believe it. "There are only fifteen thousand magicals in Britain."

"Well," Hestia demurred. "I mean, there are only about ninety-five thousand magical humans in Avalon. There are about five thousand non-magicals: muggles and squibs. Plus about five thousand high elves and fifty thousand house elves. Give or take a few."

"Jesus," Harry swore. "So Camelot's got forty thousand… How many does Port…"

"Arthur," Megan finished. "About twenty thousand. Not too shabby."

"Pen Rhionydd, a city on the north-west coast, has about ten thousand people," Hestia continued. "Otterthorpe, on the north-east coast has five thousand people. Astolat, on the south coast, has five thousand too. The smallest city is Corbenic on Sarras Island, with about three thousand people. Then there are dozens of small villages and hundreds of farms throughout the kingdom."

"So there are high elf farmers?" Harry asked, astonished.

"I don't think so," Hestia said thoughtfully. "Most of the kingdom's high elves live in the Broceliande Forest to the west, though some live in Camelot and have trades." There was a brief lull in the conversation as Harry thought about his next question.

"So can you tell me what group you're with, now?" Harry asked.

"I'm with MI6," Hestia replied.

"Like James Bond?" Harry laughed.

"No, not like James Bond," Hestia huffed. "He was the British MI6, now the Secret Intelligence Service. I'm in the Avalonian Ministry of Defense's Directorate of Military Intelligence, Section 6, Intelligence, colloquially known as MI6. We retained the name from the Second World War, while the Brits changed theirs."

"Do you work there too?" Harry asked Megan.

"Not quite," Megan replied. "I mean, they paid for Hogwarts, and I get a little spending money from them, but…"

"She's like a contractor," Hestia clarified. "She's sort of off book. If I wasn't six, they wouldn't've asked her to help out."

"What's it like in Avalon?" Harry asked next.

"It's quite like Muggle Britain, actually," Hestia replied. "We don't wear robes. We drive cars, take buses and trains and aeroplanes. We have ships. There's city government, county government, national government. We have the usual government ministries. We have telephones and television and wireless. There're restaurants and pubs. We do have brooms and carpets that fly, and a floo network, and portkeys… But just as many if not more people drive or bike or take public transit."

"So it's not like Magical Britain at all?"

"I mean," Hestia hesitated. "There's magic, obviously. But if you're talking about ministry corruption, or odd department names, quills and parchment, and generally odd stuff, then no."

"Do they play quidditch?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hestia replied. "But football and rugby are just as popular. The Camelot teams tend to dominate at quidditch and football, but the Port Arthur Knights have taken the Avalon Rugby Cup three years running. The Jones' tend to be rugby fans."

"I can see why," Harry allowed.

They were interrupted by Sgt. Downes with beverage service. Afterwards, Harry looked out the window sipping his Coke as Land's End slipped by. Goodbye England, he thought.

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"Ginny," came the familiar voice from behind her. She turned. "Where's Harry?" Remus asked.

"He's right… behind me," she trailed off as she turned around and looked back at the carriage she'd just departed from. The throng of people was thinning out, and it was obvious there was no Harry. "Did you guys see Harry get off the train?" she asked Ron and Hermione.

"No," Ron said. "He was behind you, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Ginny replied. "He helped me get my trunk down."

"Can you see him, Mad Eye?" Remus asked Moody.

"He's not on the train," Moody said, scanning the carriages with his magic eye.

"Did you see what happened to him?" Tonks asked, looking around, while Remus started casting revealing charms and other charms that Ron and Hermione couldn't identify.

"Nah," Moody drawled. "I was scannin' the crowd for threats."

"He could be bloody anywhere," Tonks sighed.

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," Moody replied. "We best be tellin' Dumbledore, though." Just then, Molly arrived.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, then she saw their faces. "Did something happen to him?"

"We're not sure, Molly," Remus replied. "We didn't see him get off the train, but he's not on it now."

"Maybe he's using his invisibility cloak?" Ron suggested.

"Mad Eye should be able to see through that," Tonks said.

"Not Potter's, I can't," Moody revealed.

"But, I thought…" Tonks began.

"Not here," Moody replied. "'Sides, we gotta be tellin' Dumbledore 'bout this. He's either gone or doesn't wanna be found. Any luck Lupin?"

"I'm not getting anything from the tracking charms," Remus replied.

"What tracking charms?" Hermione asked, perturbed.

"Never mind," Moody replied. "We'd best be going. Molly, take your children home. Tonks, take Hermione ta her parents 'n the station proper. Remus, you're comin' ta Hogwarts wi' me." Given their assignments, the other Order members scurried off. Moody nodded to Remus and they both disapparated with a pop.

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"We've begun our descent into Camelot," Sgt. Downes said. "If you could please ensure that your seatbelts are properly fastened. We'll be landing in just a few minutes. The time in Avalon is four seventeen in the afternoon." With that, she returned to her seat, and strapped in herself, then lifted a phone to call the cockpit.

Harry checked his seatbelt quickly, then looked out the window. He'd been distracted by the conversation he'd been having with Megan. To avoid information overload, they'd talked about Hogwarts. Harry had corrected some misinformation Megan had gotten about what he'd been up to the first five years. The basilisk had been new information to her.

Below Harry was surprised to see verdant green meadows, rolling hills, and emerald forests dotted with small hamlets and larger towns. Looking forward he could see part of a city with a river flowing through it. Roads and streams criss-crossed the land, and as they descended, he could make out cars and boats. He even saw a train with smoke rising from the steam engine at the front.

Shortly, the aircraft touched down. Harry had never flown in an aircraft before, and had found the experience both remarkable and less exciting than he would've thought. The aircraft taxied to an empty spot of tarmac and came to a halt. Harry unbuckled his seatbelt and stood when the others did. Sgt. Downes opened the door.

Harry followed Hestia past Sgt. Downes and into the sunlight. He blinked briefly as his eyes adjusted to the light. At the foot of the stairs was an elderly man in a business suit standing near the back of an antique black limousine. Another identical car was idling behind it. Hestia walked up to the gentleman and bowed her head formally. Megan passed them and went to the second car.

"Harry," Hestia said. "I'd like you to meet your great uncle, Prince Charlus, Count Potter." Though perhaps as old, the man looked nothing like Dumbldore. He stood tall, nearly two meters, and had quite a large frame. He had dark grey hair and piercing grey eyes looking out from a ruddy complexion. His dark brown three piece tweed suit was perfectly understated.

"A pleasure to meet you Harry," Charlus said kindly, while nod-bowing. He spoke in the same English accent Harry heard on the BBC when Vernon let him watch. He extended his hand. Harry, at a loss, took it. Charlus' voice was deep, but pleasant, and his expression softened as they shook.

"You're my great uncle?" he asked, confused.

"That's right," Charlus confirmed. "Fleamont was my brother."

"But…" Harry stammered. "I thought my family was all dead."

"Your parents and your grandparents are," Charlus confirmed. "I withdrew from British society in 1979 when your grandparents died. My wife, Dorea, had died the year previous, and there was nothing keeping me in Britain. Your parents elected to remain in Britain to help fight Voldemort, and I agreed to come here to help run the place in their absence." Hestia opened the back door of the saloon. "Shall we?" Harry entered first and scooted across the seat. Charlus followed. Hestia closed the door and sat in the front seat. Harry was surprised that the cars' drivers were sat on the left, instead of on the right like in Britain. "I've had a bit of trouble tracking you down," Charlus continued. "Albus hid you well, and Hestia couldn't get you out before now."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "I've been in Hogwarts with Megan for five years! Why couldn't you at least have her tell me about this place?"

"The window for getting you out without Albus knowing was small," Charlus explained. "Each year we were restricted to the time on the Hogwarts Express, both coming and going. At other times you're either under Hogwarts wards or those where you stay during the summer, which we now know is Little Whinging, Surrey. Since Megan is underage, she can't perform magic in Britain. Thus, she was unable to apparate you out. We couldn't get Hestia onto the train until Albus reformed the Order last year. It wasn't worth telling you about Avalon and risking Albus finding out. If he knew about your heritage, there's no telling what he would've tried." Then something clicked for Harry.

"You're a prince," Harry stated as the car started driving. Harry was paying no attention to the scenery outside.

"Yes," Charlus allowed.

"And you came here when my grandparents died to run the country," Harry continued.

"That's right," Charlus agreed.

"Does that mean my grandfather was the king?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry," Charlus nodded. "And so was your father. Your parents came here in 1979 for their coronation, and then left again."

"So am I a king?" Harry finished his train of thought.

"Yes, you've been King of Avalon since October 31, 1981," Charlus informed him. "But, in Avalon, the king must be at least sixteen to rule. Until your birthday, I will continue to rule in your stead, as I have since your elevation, as regent."

"OK," Harry said, at a loss.

"I will, of course, keep you informed as to what's going on," Charlus said. "I'll also be asking your advice, as I hope you will ask mine come August."

"Everything's changing for me, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid so," Charlus nodded. "We didn't want to have to tell you quite so quickly," he explained. "Unfortunately, Albus was a little too good at keeping us away from you."

"He knows about Avalon?" Harry asked.

"No," Charlus told him. "The only magical British national who knew about Avalon was Sirius Black. He came here in 1979 with your parents and watched the coronation."

"He never said a word to me about it," Harry said.

"He couldn't," Charlus replied. "He swore an unbreakable vow never to reveal the secret of Avalon. He could only talk about it to people who already knew. He and Hestia had several conversations about it this past year. Unfortunately, she couldn't divulge the secret to you until after his death as you were in school. Her approaching you on the train was his idea, and it worked flawlessly."

"He was always looking out for me," Harry whispered to himself, and looked out the window. They were driving through city streets, and it could've been any city in Britain, except they were driving on the wrong side of the road. He saw people on the streets going about their daily lives. He spotted a wand or two, but generally, it looked decidedly muggle. "Where are we going?"

"The Castle of Camelot," Charlus explained. "It is both the primary residence of the Monarch, as well as the seat of Parliament and the location of the Royal Court."

"Will I be told about all that?" Harry asked. "I mean, like a class, or a book, or something?"

"It will be part of your formal training," Charlus allowed. "Unfortunately, you won't be having much of a summer holiday, I'm afraid. Besides you becoming ruler of an admittedly small country; your education at Hogwarts was deficient from an Avalonian point of view."

"Oh?" Harry asked, turning back.

"Prior to attending Hogwarts, you learned maths, science, English, history, geography…" Charlus explained, trailing off. "At Hogwarts, you learned charms, transfiguration, potions… Had you attended school in Avalon, those would've been blended together from the start. You are educated to the level we would expect a twelve year old to be at with what we call mundane knowledge, while magically, your formal education would put you squarely with the fourteen year olds, except for runes and arithmancy, both of which are required subjects here. We've arranged private tutors to assist you in catching up. It is entirely up to you as to whether you continue your education past the A-levels—it looks good for you to do so—however, Avalon requires you to have passed the A-levels."

"Wow," Harry sighed. "I feel quite stupid now."

"Ignorance is not stupidity," Charlus chided. "Never conflate the two. Your lack of education was not your fault. Simply put forth the effort required with your tutors, and you'll be fine." He patted Harry's arm in a comforting manner. "Regardless, I can begin your education of your new country now, if you like?"

"Sure," Harry agreed readily.

"Avalon is a constitutional monarchy with a written constitution," Charlus instructed. "The legislature is a one hundred seat Parliament, and it is filled through universal suffrage, including all elves, goblins residing outside of Gringotts, and muggle subjects. We use nationwide proportional representation, meaning unlike in Britain, there are no local seats. Instead, the political parties supply a ranked list of candidates, and the voters select the party of their choice. The percentage of votes for each party then becomes the number of seats they are allocated, which are then filled off the parties ranked lists.

"Members of Parliament serve for no more than four years, but may serve less if the government deadlocks and the Parliament is dissolved on the order of the monarch," Charlus intoned. "No person may serve as an MP in consecutive terms, though after a gap, a person may serve again as an MP.

"There are five major political parties in Avalon: the Conservatives (Tories), the Co-Operatives, the Liberals (Whigs), Labour, and the Greens," Charlus continued. "Most governments in the past one hundred fifty years have been majority Liberal, with significant stints where the Liberals led a Liberal-Labour coalition. Conservatives have led the government for less than forty years in the past one hundred fifty years, and the Co-Operatives (the newest party) and the Greens have never led a government.

"You, as the monarch, are head of state and commander in chief of the armed forces," Charlus said, switching gears slightly. "You appoint the justices of the Royal Court, order Parliamentary elections and the dissolution of Parliament, and invite the Prime Minister to take his post.

"The Prime Minister is the chief executive, and responsible for running the government," Charlus said. "The executive is divided into several ministries: Culture, Defence, Education, Environment, Foreign, Health and Social Services, Justice, Trade, Transportation and Infrastructure, and Treasury.

"The Royal Court is the supreme judicial body, comprised of three lord justices," Charlus informed him. "By tradition two of the lord justices are members of the nobility who are not also executives of counties, while one is a commoner who is elevated to a knighthood. The lord justices serve for life."

"The counties?" Harry asked.

"Avalon is divided into four counties," Charlus told him. "The County of Brittia includes Camelot and the west. The County of Annwn includes Port Arthur and the middle of the nation east of Camelot. The County of Celliwig includes Pen Rhionydd, Otterthorpe, and the north-east. The County of Sarras includes Astolat and the south, including Sarras Island. Before Dumnonia was lost, there were four more counties: Exeter, Cameliard, Potter, and Glastonbury. We still have counts for those, despite those counts being landless. The other landless nobles are the Earls of West Wales and Dumnonia, and the Duke of Cornwall."

"You're the Count Potter, you said," Harry reminded him.

"Yes," Charlus allowed. "The Potters were counts long before they were kings. The family retained the title, and has traditionally bestowed it on second sons. It's a kind of consolation prize. It's rather meaningless for us, as we're already princes, and thus in the nobility already."

"Are there many nobles?" Harry asked.

"Not so many," Charlus replied. "Aside from the landless nobles, and the landed counts, there are the Earls of Lyonesse and Camelot, and the Duke of Avalon."

"What do they do?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Charlus chuckled. "They have no formal responsibilities. For a time, they oversaw their fiefs, but in modern times, the fiefs—other than the counties—have fallen into disuse. Traditionally, they serve in the military, as do the other nobles, though they all are also fairly important businessmen and civic leaders.

"The four landed counts, on the other hand, act as chief executives of the counties," Charlus explained. "The counties also have a twenty person elected county council to legislate, and a county court to provide justice. Your man in the county is the Royal Sheriff, who monitors the count for the king and acts as the senior law enforcement official in the county. The county court consists of one justice, always a commoner. The county seat is always the largest city in the county."

Harry sat for a while, thinking. He looked out the window again. There was so much to take in, it seemed overwhelming.

"What's expected of me?" Harry asked, turning back.

"Initially, you must have a coronation," Charlus explained. "Then there's the assumption of responsibility on your birthday. Thereafter, you'll be receiving a brief every morning, updating you on important matters. As I said, you call Parliament into session, invite the Prime Minister to sit, and appoint Royal Justices. You also dissolve Parliament if they deadlock, and order Parliamentary elections. Those tasks take up very little time. Your other task is commander-in-chief of the armed forces."

"So there's nothing for me to do?" Harry asked.

"I don't want to discourage you," Charlus replied. "The monarchy can be as much or as little as you make it. Your power is real in some cases, and is derived from influence in others. Unlike in Britain, where the monarch is supposed to be above politics, in Avalon, the monarch is allowed to be a political creature. You are allowed to advocate for the passage of laws. There is a mechanism whereby the monarch can call for a referendum of the people to pass new constitutional measures, and bypass Parliament.

"The House of Potter brought several innovations to the government of Avalon," Charlus commented. "Often far before their appearance elsewhere; including the Royal Court of Justice in 1308, the Parliament in 1335, a standing military in 1640, the Prime Minister's office in 1651, and the various government ministries starting in 1673. Through a series of relatively progressive rulers, the Potters have managed to remain popular in Avalon, despite being absent for several months each year to oversee their properties in Great Britain."

"What's in Britain?" Harry asked, curious.

"The Potters have holdings there in excess of five million acres," Charlus said. "While most of the Potter family holdings are in England, approximately one million acres are spread throughout Scotland and Wales. The majority of the Potters' English holdings are in Cornwall, Devon, and Somerset, a holdover from when Dumnonia was part of Avalon. The Potters have never sold or surrendered land, though the sovereignty passed from Avalon to Wessex, and thence to England. Additional small holdings are in London, Yorkshire, Hereford, Bristol, Dorset, and Kent.

"The Potters also hold the title Baron de Coleville in the peerage of England," Charlus informed him. "And have done since Robert de Coleville's daughter Margaret married Stephen Potter in 1414, with the title passing to their eldest son, John. This title, grants them the moniker of Noble, while their familial presence in England since before the Roman invasions grant them the moniker of Ancient. Their status as an ancient and noble family gives them a seat on the Wizengamot in Britain. They also have traditionally served the British Royal family as advisors regarding the magical world."

"So I'll get to go back to Britain, then?" Harry asked.

"Eventually," Charlus allowed. "You'll be fairly busy with your responsibilities here at first. You're not allowed to take up your Wizengamot seat until you turn eighteen anyway."

"I thought British wizards were considered adults at seventeen," Harry said.

"That's true," Charlus nodded. "But in order to sit on the Wizengamot, you must be done school, or at least, be old enough to be done Hogwarts."

"Oh," Harry said. "What was that about advising the British Royal family?"

"As a British noble, a wizard, and a fellow royal," Charlus began, "the British monarchy has looked on the Potters as a sounding board for ideas and actions for centuries. We have acted as something of a back channel for communication with the Wizengamot as well, bypassing the Minister for Magic. It is something I have continued since your grandparents' deaths. Although I haven't been able to consult with the Wizengamot, for obvious reasons, I have a good working relationship with Her Majesty, and have advised her on several matters."

"That's brilliant," Harry said, amazed.

"Welcome to your new home," Charlus said as the car pulled to a halt. The door opened and Harry stepped out into the courtyard of a magnificent castle. There was a small reception committee. Harry spent a few moments just drinking in the scene.

The walls were light grey, and towered above him. The interior of the castle was lined with massive matching grey stone buildings that were elegantly done in a Georgian style. Behind was the main gate. Directly opposite was a large building with a colonnade flanked by two more gates. Towers dotted the corners flying flags. There was another tower rising behind the building in front of him. A large number of cars were parked in the courtyard, including some military vehicles. Sentries in blue dress uniforms stood by doors and gates. They were fairly close to the colonnaded building.

"Harry," Charlus said, moving beside him. "Please allow me to introduce some people." He guided Harry over to the group. "This is James Morgan, the Prime Minister."

"Hello," Harry said politely. Harry offered his hand.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," Morgan replied, shaking his hand gently. He was old, but not as old as Charlus. Harry placed him at around sixty. "May I introduce my wife, Helen." He indicated a slightly younger woman standing next to him.

"It's nice to meet you," Harry said, again shaking hands.

"It's so good to have you here at last, Your Majesty," Helen replied, smiling.

"This is my son, who will be acting as your Private Secretary," Charlus informed him. "Thomas Potter." This Potter was, like the Prime Minister, about sixty years old. He had black hair liberally spotted with grey, with hazel eyes. He was thin and tall; taller than Charlus.

"Tom, please, Your Majesty," Tom replied. Harry shook his hand.

"OK, Tom," Harry replied. He turned to Charlus while still holding Tom's hand. "Is it OK if family members refer to me by name? This 'Your Majesty' business is going to get old fast."

"We've adopted the British custom of 'Your Majesty' upon first address and 'sir' subsequently," Charlus informed him.

"Can I change that?" Harry asked.

"It is your prerogative," Charlus informed him.

"Are there any other Potters here today?" Harry asked.

"My wife, Lizzy," Tom said, indicating the woman next to him, "and our children: David and Laurel. Oh, and David's wife, Anne." They each raised a hand as they were introduced. "Our youngest, Frank, as well as David and Anne's children are in school right now, but we'll introduce you to them later."

"I'd like it if you all, at least, could call me Harry," Harry said. "I don't stand on ceremony often."

"The reports we've gotten have indicated you're a man of action," Tom informed him.

"It probably won't mean anything to you, but Gryffindor's charge!" Harry said with a grin. He moved on to Lizzy. "It's nice to meet you, Lizzy," Harry said, taking her hand.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Lizzy said. "It means quite a lot to us." Harry nodded and moved on.

"Hello, David," Harry said, shaking his hand. He had the traditional black Potter hair, with blue eyes. Harry placed him about thirty. He was shorter than his father, but had his reedy build.

"Hello, Harry," David replied. "I'll be acting as your Chamberlain."

"OK," Harry agreed. "What's that?"

"I'll be in charge of making sure that you have what you need, and things here are ready when you need them," David explained. "That's different than my father, who's your Secretary. He's like an adviser and counsellor. I'm like your mum, but without the discipline." Harry laughed.

"Hello, Anne," Harry greeted the beautiful woman. She was blonde with blue eyes, of average height and weight for a woman her age.

"Hello, Harry," Anne replied, shaking his hand. "Don't let him fool you, David's been working on that Chamberlain/Secretary bit for a week now." Harry chuckled.

"Hello Laurel," Harry said, greeting the young woman. Harry placed her in her early twenties with the Potter hair pulled back into a bun, and hazel eyes like her father.

"Hello Harry," she replied with a smile.

"What do you do?" he asked.

"I'm finishing up my masters in government administration," she replied.

"Following in the family's footsteps?" Harry mused.

"I'm trying," she agreed lightly. Harry grinned.

"I'll turn things over to Tom and David," Charlus said. "I have a meeting with James." Harry watched as Charlus and the Prime Minister and his wife wandered into a building off to the left.

"So, a bit of orientation, I think," Tom began. "This is the Parliamentary Courtyard of Camelot Castle. The massive structure in front of you is Parliament House, where the Parliament meets and the ministers have their offices. The buildings on the left and right house the offices of some of the executive ministries. The first on the left's the Prime Minister's official home and office. The one next to it is the Health and Social Services headquarters. Across the courtyard are the Trade ministry and Transportation and Infrastructure. Culture is to the left of the main gate, and Education is to the right. Through the gate to the left of Parliament House is the Royal Court Bailey. It houses the Royal Courthouse, the ministry headquarters for Justice and Environment. If you'd like to follow me through the gate on the right, I can take you to your quarters."

"We'll just scamper then," Anne said, indicating Laurel as well. "We'll see you later, Harry."

"Bye! It was nice meeting you," he said with a wave.

The three men passed through the medieval gate flanked by sentries. They entered another courtyard which contained three large buildings lining the walls. This courtyard was about a quarter the size of the Parliamentary Courtyard. Towers spiked the corners, and the one in the far corner on the left had a gate in it. Two of the three buildings had military guards.

"This is the King's Bailey. That's the Defence Ministry," Tom said, pointing to the building on the far wall. "That's the Treasury," he continued, pointing to the building on the left, which was the other building with a sentry. "The last building's the Foreign Office."

"Where will I be living?" Harry asked.

"Through this gate," Tom replied, as they approached the gated tower. They passed through, and entered a fourth courtyard. "This is your home, the Royal Courtyard." The courtyard was as big as the Parliamentary Courtyard. The buildings in this courtyard were white stone in a Rococo style, four stories tall. The courtyard itself was filled with a French garden the size of four football pitches. There was a fountain in the centre. Stone walks connected the gatehouse to the fountain and the buildings beyond.

"This is brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "This castle is huge!"

"The inner wall encloses a space eight hundred metres by three hundred metres," Tom informed him. The outer wall, which you've yet to see, is set a further hundred metres beyond the inner wall. The total area of the castle is a kilometre by a half kilometre."

"What's in the outer bailey?" Harry asked, reaching deep into his brain for castle facts.

"Less important ministry offices," Tom replied. "Plus the garrison's barracks, and a large car park." They were heading for the main entrance of the centre building, making their way through the garden. Harry was surrounded by roses and other flowers he didn't know the names of, plus bushes and small trees.

"This must cost a bundle," Harry observed.

"Less than you'd think," David said, entering the conversation. "The castle itself is maintained by Potter elves, as are other Potter properties. They also grow all the food for the Potter family, meaning that the expense for sustaining the monarchy is far lower than other countries."

"We must have a lot of house elves," Harry said.

"Nine thousand eight hundred and fifteen," David replied. "The Potters have nearly one fifth of all house elves in Avalon."

"Christ," Harry swore. "I can't tell Hermione that! She'll kill me." Tom and David laughed.

"I think she'd find that we in Avalon treat our house elves as family members, and not as slaves, as is common in Britain," Tom told him.

"Do you both live here?" Harry asked.

"As members of your staff, yes," Tom replied. "Dad, David, and I all have apartments. We're in the north wing, over there." He pointed to the left. "Right now we all live there, however, when Laurel and Frank are old enough, they'll move out."

"How many staff members do I have?" Harry asked.

"About a hundred," Tom replied. "But you won't see most of them."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because they're house elves," David laughed. "There are ten human staff, including us. There are two tutors, two drivers, the head gardener, the head chef, the master of the household, and the keeper of the privy purse."

They passed through the front doors and into a white marble paradise. Soaring ceilings, columns, graceful arches, stately bust, and brilliantly coloured paintings adorned the halls. There were mirrors and gold chandeliers. Crimson runners ran down the corridors. They showed Harry parlours, dining rooms, a magnificent library, his new office, and finally, his bedchamber. It was huge, about the size of 4 Privet Drive once you included the loo, the closets, and the dressing room. The bed was, appropriately, king sized, and finely carved, covered in a crimson duvet with gold trim. The walls were white, hung with massive paintings rich in reds and golds.

"I don't know what to say," Harry said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Weight of the Crown**

Harry was standing in an ante room in Parliament House. He stared at the painting on the wall. It showed an ancestor of his—Henry Potter—if the sign was to be believed, opening the first Parliament. Harry looked down at the uniform he was wearing.

It was the uniform of a field marshal of the Royal Army, dark blue tunic and trousers with two gold stripes running down the outside of each leg. Gold epaulettes adorned his shoulders, and two rows of sparkling brass buttons ran down the front. The standing collar was encrusted with gold braid in the shape of laurels. A black sword belt was worn over a wine coloured sash. Spit-shined black shoes completed the ensemble. He had no hat or awards. His hair was slicked down and combed neatly for the first time in his life. Harry felt like he was playing dress-up.

"Harry," David said from the open door. "It's time."

Harry walked into the assembly chamber. It looked much like the House of Lords in London that Harry remembered seeing on the telly. It was full, and when he entered, everyone stood. He walked purposefully towards the throne at the far end of the hall, mentally tamping down the butterflies in his stomach. All the seats were occupied, as was the visitor's gallery overhead. There were video cameras in the corners surrounded by even more people. Harry was bad at guessing numbers, but he would've said there were easily over five hundred people in the room.

He reached the throne and stood facing it. James Morgan, the Prime Minister, stood in front of him, looking out over the assembled masses. He was wearing a simple black robe with a livery collar around his neck. His badge of office was on his left breast. Music Harry hadn't even noticed stopped. The silence was deafening.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" bellowed the Prime Minister. "I here present unto you Harry James, your undoubted King. Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?" There was an unintelligible roar from the crowd. "Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the Avalon, according to their laws and customs?"

"I so promise, and I so swear," Harry replied.

"Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?" the Prime Minister asked.

"All this I promise to do," Harry agreed. "The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep."

Without further words, the lieutenant general commanding the army came forward from the right, and strapped an ancient sword to his belt: Excalibur. It was plain steel, ancient and eternal, polished to the highest sheen. The grip was wrapped in oiled black leather. A single large sapphire sparkled from the pommel. He moved to stand behind Harry. David approached from behind, and robed him in a crimson cloak edged in ermine. The cloak was of the finest cloth but sat heavy on his shoulders. Then, Tom approached from the left, and placed a livery collar around his neck, sparkling in gold and studded with precious gems. Charlus approached last, and placed a heavy gold signet ring on his finger. The ceremony was almost complete.

A functionary moved from the side bearing the crown on a purple pillow. The Prime Minister removed it and bore it up over their heads, displaying it. It was what he'd always imagined a monarch's crown should be; not one of the fancy Victorian crowns with purple silk, but a single thick band of gold, carved intricately, studded with gems below the eight points of the crown.

"By the constitution and laws of Avalon, I crown thee Harry, King of Avalon," he said. Harry felt the weight of the crown rest on his head.

"Long live King Harry!" the crowd shouted in unison. "Long live Avalon!" Morgan moved away, standing to the side of the throne.

"Take your throne, Your Majesty," he said, bowing. Harry walked slowly towards the massive gold chair, raised up above the dais on a crimson riser. He turned, and sat, beholding the throngs.

"Who would come before me to pledge fealty?" Harry asked. The entire ceremony was planned, and had been rehearsed several times by the key players the day before. He'd made sure to memorize his few lines. Thirteen men and one woman stepped forward, including Charlus.

"I will be faithful and loyal," they chorused after they knelt. "And will maintain faith and loyalty to Harry, King of Avalon, and to his heirs, in matters of life and limb and of earthly honour against all mortal men; and never will I bear arms for anyone against him or his heirs. So swear I."

"Arise my man, Duke of Avalon," Harry said. A fifty year old man in a general's uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Duke of Cornwall." A ninety year old man in a naval officer's uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Earl of Lyonesse." A forty year old man in an army uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Earl of Camelot." A fifty year old man in an air force uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Earl of West Wales." A twenty year old man in a navy uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Earl of Dumnonia." A sixty year old man in a navy uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Brittia." A seventy year old man in black robes rose and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Celliwig." A thirty year old man in black robes stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Sarras." An eighty year old man in black robes stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Annwn." A fifty year old man in black robes lumbered to his feet and nodded at Harry. "Arise my lady, Countess of Exeter." The only woman of the group, a sixty year old in black robes, stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Cameliard." A twenty year old in an army uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Potter." Charlus, wearing an immaculate air force uniform stood slowly and nodded at Harry. "Arise my man, Count of Glastonbury." A forty year old man in a navy uniform stood and nodded at Harry. "Go forth and do great things on our behalf. I charge you." Without a word, the fourteen nobles of the realm turned and marched down the middle of the hall, and out the door.

"Mister Speaker," Harry called. The Speaker appeared in front of him. "It would please me for you to open Parliament."

"It shall be done, Your Majesty," she said. Then she turned. "I hearby declare Parliament opened. Fellow ministers, may I present to you, Harry, King of Avalon!"

"It is my wish that you should dutifully legislate in accordance with our constitution," Harry said. "Be faithful in your work, and mindful of the least of us at all times. Madam Speaker."

"Is there any new business?" she asked. Hearing none, as was planned, she continued. "I declare this session of Parliament adjourned until the morrow. Your Majesty, the people await." Harry stood, and walked down the aisle.

He stepped out onto the portico, and took in the throng of cheering people. In the fore was a battalion of troops in formation with colours and band massed in front. On his arrival they immediately presented arms and dipped the colours. The band sounded a fanfare and then began a patriotic song, which Harry had been told was the national anthem. Harry could see the north-west tower, where the sovereign's personal standard was being raised to denote him in residence. When the flag reached the top it fluttered open, showing a golden stag rampant on a blood red field. Charlus and the Prime Minister flanked him.

"Wave, Harry," Charlus whispered. Harry complied. When the anthem concluded, a cannon fired from one of the towers, followed by another, culminating with the twenty-first shot a minute later. Just when Harry thought things were done, a trio of fighter jets screamed low over the courtyard in a vic formation trailing red gold and red smoke. When the jets left the courtyard lapsed into silence.

"Avalon!" called the Prime Minister. "I present your King: Harry, first of that name."

"Long live the King!" the people shouted back. "Long live the King! Long live the King!" Harry was nearly overtaken by unexpected emotion at the acclaim. Harry had come to realize that, despite his wishes, becoming the monarch of a sovereign country made his desired regression into anonymity impossible. The last twenty-four hours had largely been spent coming to terms with that.

He had considered what it was about his fame that he didn't like. He had come to realize that it was that he felt like a fraud. Few people knew about his actions the first three years of his Hogwarts education, some of which were truly worthy of acclaim. Instead, they chose to laud him for an action that occurred before he was fully cognizant of his surroundings, and which he couldn't remember. He was famous for his mum's actions, not his own. The fact that his fame in Britain sprung from what was perhaps the worst day of his life didn't help.

Harry then pondered the role he'd already begun to play in Avalon. On the surface, it might seem similar. There was public acclaim for something he had no control over, namely his birth to the predecessor to the throne. That, however, was not true. His current popularity was due to a residual contentment with the House of Potter, however Harry knew fame was fickle. If he did a poor job as King, the public would turn against him.

While terrifying, that was also liberating. For the first time Harry's actions would drive his popularity. If Harry did a good job, he'd be liked. If he did a poor job, he'd be hated. The point was, Harry was in control of his own destiny, and he had realized the night before that he could live with that. Here he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Boy-Who-Lied, or whatever the _Prophet_ had cooked up that week depending on the mood of the Ministry. Here, he was King Harry, and his actions would be judged on their face.

"Care to address the crowd?" Charlus asked softly. Harry gulped and nodded before applying a sonorous charm to himself.

"People of Avalon!" Harry began, addressing the hushed crowd. "I thank you for your warm welcome. I hope to carry on the tradition of good, responsible governance and innovation that has prevailed here. I want to see you all succeed: in life, in love, in business.

"I know hardship," he said. "I know what it's like to struggle. I've seen people overcome all manner of difficulty to better themselves and make a way in the world. I hope to bring that experience to my reign. I will endeavour to choose the hard right over the easy wrong. I will stand firm against the storm for what I believe in, and try to make Avalon and the World a better place. Thank you." For a moment there was silence. Then the applause began, a growing, thunderous wave of clapping and cheers that spread across the courtyard and reverberated off the walls. "I should have prepared something better," Harry said to Charlus over the noise.

"You did fine," Charlus replied. "Wave some more for a few minutes, and then we can get down to business."

Hestia sat in the parlour of the Burrow. She'd received an owl telling her that there was to be an emergency meeting early this morning. It had been a long flight for the owl. Her flight back from Avalon had landed several hours before, giving her ample time to prepare. Around her sat most of the other members of the Order, including a distraught Molly Weasley. At last, the floo flared and Dumbledore stepped through.

"Ah, I see we're all here," Dumbledore began, projecting a calm outward appearance. "I must begin by saying that I have some rather unfortunate news. It would appear that Harry Potter has disappeared." Though there was some murmuring, there wasn't the outright shock there should've been, as everyone had known for at least fifteen minutes already. Molly Weasley had told everyone as they'd arrived that Harry was missing. This was just official confirmation.

"He did not depart the Hogwarts Express with his friends, though he did arrive in King's Cross aboard the train," Dumbledore reported. "When he did not appear as expected, Alastor, Remus, and Nymphadora…" Tonks frowned at the mention of her name. "…conducted a brief search using revealing spells and Alastor's eye, but were unable to locate him. They reported to me immediately. I checked Privet Drive and Grimmauld Place that afternoon. He was not at Privet Drive, and I was unable to access Grimmauld Place. I could confirm, however, that no one but Kreacher was inside."

"How'd you do that?" Daedalus Diggle asked.

"I called for Kreacher and he appeared," Dumbledore replied. "I asked him two questions: first, if Harry was inside, and second, if he'd been told to lie to me about Harry's whereabouts. The answer to both questions was no. Then I sent an owl to search for Harry. It lost its tracking charm somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, and has not returned."

"The Atlantic Ocean?!" Molly shrieked. "Has he gone to America?"

"At this time nothing is known for certain," Dumbledore replied. "I've mapped the known flight path of the bird, and there are several islands along the path, had it continued in a straight line. The first is Madeira, followed by the Canaries and Cape Verde, and lastly, South Georgia Island."

"Well, that certainly narrows it down," Remus groaned. "How would he have gotten to any of them?"

"Do they even have wizarding populations?" Tonks asked, astonished.

"Why would he go to any of those places?" Hestia decided to weigh in.

"Does he speak Spanish or Portuguese?" Elphias Doge wanted to know.

"I think first, it's important to remain calm," Dumbledore said. "We shall, of course, mount expeditions to each of these islands to search for Mr. Potter."

"Are we sure he's there?" Bill Weasley asked. "The owl could've been blown off course, or confounded, or any number of things."

"We can only use the information available to us," Dumbledore said. "We will, of course, try to develop more information, but while we do, it would behove us to check for him where the information we do have points." He got nods from most of the people present. "Now, it is perhaps most likely that he travelled to South Georgia, as the few residents speak English there. I would like Remus and Nymphadora to travel to South Georgia to search for him. I'll arrange the long distance portkey."

Hestia snorted, knowing those two there wouldn't be much 'searching' going on other than in each others' trousers. Remus' nose would've come in handy in an actual search. Too bad it wouldn't smell anything of use.

"I'd like Alastor and Emmaline Vance to travel to the Canaries, and search there," Dumbledore continued. "Bill and Minerva, I'd like you to go to Cape Verde. Finally, Elphias and Daedalus, you should go to Madeira to look for Harry."

"I think we'll be needin' a few more hands to help in the Canaries and Cape Verde," Moody grunted. "There's more 'n one island in those chains."

"Very well," Dumbledore allowed. "Fred and George will accompany Bill and Minerva to Cape Verde. Severus, you and Sturgis will accompany Alastor and Emmaline to the Canaries."

Hestia didn't miss Snape's sour look or Molly's frown.

"Molly," Dumbledore continued. "I'd like you and Hestia to interview Harry's friends to see if they have any idea of where he went."

"Headmaster," Snape cut it. "Wouldn't it be better if I interviewed the children?"

"Severus," Dumbledore smiled sadly. "In spite of your abilities, your presence might hinder our investigation. I'm confident that Molly can tease the truth out of Ron, Ginny, and Hermione." Hestia noted that he didn't include Neville or Luna. Perhaps he'd forgotten about them.

The meeting stumbled along for a few more minutes, in which Wizengamot business was discussed, as well as what the Aurors were doing to fight Voldemort, and what Voldemort was doing. Hestia paid attention for the sake of her intelligence summaries, but most of that was handled by a magical audio recorder which she'd review later. When the meeting broke up, Hestia went to Molly Weasley.

"Would you like to interview your children?" Hestia asked. "I can handle Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Lovegood."

"Why would you interview Neville and Luna?" Molly asked, surprised.

"They went with Harry to the Ministry," Hestia reasoned. "They must be his friends, and they might know where he went."

"They can't be too good of friends," Molly replied. "Ron or Ginny would've told me." Hestia mentally rolled her eyes. Ron was obviously a self-aggrandizing idiot, and Ginny had probably learnt long ago not to tell her mother anything. At least Molly knew about Hermione. Though, knowing Molly, she probably thought Hermione would marry Ron and become a docile housewife like herself. If Megan's reports were anything to go by, nothing could be farther from the truth. Hermione was much closer to Harry than she was Ron, and the verbal altercations between her and Ron were apparently something of a monthly ritual and a source of wagering for much of the student body. Ron might be stupid enough to think that was normal and healthy for a relationship, but she was certain that Hermione was smarter than that, even if she was socially stunted.

"It's worth a shot," Hestia shrugged. "I'll let you know how it goes."

Harry had changed into slate grey trousers and a blue and white checked button down. He was in his office with Tom trying not to be distracted by the beautiful day outside. Tom ushered in the first of his many meetings.

"This is Richard White, the Foreign Minister," Tom informed him.

"Good morning, Mr. White," Harry said politely, standing and shaking his hand.

"Your Majesty," White replied, smiling back.

"Please be seated," Harry said, sitting himself. "I don't have an agenda for this meeting, so please tell me about the Foreign Ministry."

"That's fairly easy, sir," White said. "The ministry maintains small embassies in Great Britain, Ireland, Iceland, Canada, the United States, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and Spain. These are envoys to the muggle governments, and interact only with the heads of state, head of government, and chief foreign officials of those countries. Most people don't know we exist, and we obliviate those who do know once the need to know is gone. We also have offices in the British, French, Canadian, and American embassies that facilitate trade with those countries magical populations. In French, Canadian, and American magical populations we pose as British merchants, while in Britain, we pose as Canadians. We also have an office that observes the business of the ICW, however, we don't have a seat, and aren't an acknowledged body there. They aren't even aware we exist.

"The Foreign Ministry also operates the customs checkpoints at our airports and seaports, as well as coordinates with the Defence Ministry regarding borders and airspace. We house some Defence personnel in our embassies who are there for intelligence gathering purposes, too," White continued. "We work closely with the Trade Ministry and the Transportation and Infrastructure Ministries to expedite international travel and trade. We are the fourth smallest ministry with about fifteen hundred employees."

"I realize I'm new to Avalon, so please forgive my questions," Harry began. "Why do we hide from the magical governments?"

"The feeling in most of the country is that the rest of the world is doing it wrong," White replied easily. "We've accepted other sentient magical beings as equals. We've adapted muggle technology to work with magic. We integrate magical and muggle society. We remain segregated from the magical world because they would have a difficult time accepting our methods. In Avalon, we violate the statute of secrecy every minute of every day, but that's because we don't have the same history they do. There were no witch burnings here. We've never had a dark lord. The magical population far outstrips that of any other country, save perhaps America and China, but our Magical to Muggle ratio is astronomically high. We abide by the statute of secrecy by keeping our entire country secret, because there's no way we'd be able to keep the secret of magic secret from other muggles."

"Are there any issues you'd like to raise with me?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"Not at this time, sir," White replied congenially. "The Foreign Ministry has no problems, and there's not much going on in the rest of the world, except for Britain, which you already know about. You should receive briefings on that front from the Defence Ministry."

"Very well," Harry nodded. "I thank you for your time, Mr. White." They again shook hands and White left. "Who's next?" he asked Tom.

"Health and Social Services," Tom replied, glancing at a sheet. He ducked out for a second before bringing in a woman. "This is Yvette Lewis, Minister for Health and Social Services."

"Hello, Madam Lewis," Harry said, politely, standing and shaking her hand. "Please sit."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lewis replied.

"I think yours is one area that I'm most excited about," Harry informed her.

"That's rather unusual, sir," Lewis observed. "To most, Health and Social Services is just there."

"I think you'll find that I'm different," Harry said. "I've read through a bit of the brief, but please, tell me about your Ministry."

"As the name implies, we operate the National Health Service," Lewis explained. "The National Health Service operates seven hospitals in six cities. There are forty general practitioner offices throughout the country as well. Dental services are also available at GP offices. We have twelve hundred healthcare workers including doctors, nurses, medical technicians, and medical specialists, and healthcare administrators. We train and supply all Emergency Medical Technicians to the fire brigades.

"We also oversee the Pension and Welfare Offices," Lewis continued. "Pensioners in Avalon are over sixty years of age for muggles, eighty years of age for magicals, and one hundred forty years of age for high elves. Before you ask, we don't offer pension services for house elves, because they never stop working. We've offered on at least four occasions. We tie the pension rate to one and a half times the minimum wage.

"The Welfare Office oversees cases where people can't support themselves," Lewis said. "It's divided into the Adult Welfare Section and the Child Welfare Section. Adult Welfare usually means help with funding and job placement, but can also include connecting people with educational resources, mental health providers, or behavioural health providers. Child Welfare can mean cooperating with police to investigate abuse, placing children with foster parents, and ensuring guardians have the ability to meet certain children's special needs."

"I'm impressed," Harry told her. "As an orphan myself, I'm quite keen to see they're properly taken care of. I'm also interested in child health and welfare. I'll be sure to urge Parliament to keep your funding where it's needed. Do you have any issues you'd like to raise with me?"

"No sir," Lewis said, shaking her head. "Prince Charlus has been very good to us at Health and Social Services."

"That's great to hear," Harry said. "I'd best let you get back to work. I'll try to stop by your office soon to see how everything works." He shook her hand again before she left. "Who's next?"

"Justice," Tom said. He moved to open the door.

"Hello. Can I help you?" Hermione asked as she opened the door.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," the woman at the door said, surprising her. "My name is Hestia Jones. I'm here to talk to you about Harry Potter. May I come in?"

"How do I know you?" Hermione asked, scrunching her face in concentration.

"I saw you last year when you were staying at Grimmauld Place," Hestia reminded her.

"Yes!" Hermione said, making the connection. "Please come in. My parents are at their surgery, so they're not here. We'll have privacy. Tea?"

"No, thank you," Hestia replied with a smile. She did take the offered seat on the couch.

"Have you found Harry yet?" Hermione asked as she sat.

"Before I go any farther," Hestia said gently. "I'll need a magical oath that you'll not purposely reveal what I'm about to tell you to anyone."

"Won't that violate the underage restrictions on magic?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"When your wand bonded to you, it sparked, correct?" Hestia asked.

"Yes," Hermione allowed.

"Did you receive a message from the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Hestia pressed.

"No," Hermione realized.

"This will be like that," Hestia said. Hermione nodded and pulled out her wand.

"I, Hermione Granger, swear on my magic not to purposefully reveal the contents of my conversations today with Hestia Jones to anyone unless she allows it at a later date, and then only to those people whom she allows. So mote it be," Hermione said. She swished her wand and blue sparks fell from it.

"Excellent," Hestia said. "First: Harry is safe and, I presume, happy. He's had a very serious change in his life. While I can't reveal his location, I can say that he's not in the United Kingdom or Ireland."

"Oh, thank God," Hermione said, sagging. "I'm so glad the headmaster found him."

"That is not the case," Hestia said carefully. "The headmaster and the Order are still ignorant of Harry's whereabouts. They are currently searching in the Spanish and Portuguese islands in the eastern Atlantic for Harry, as well as South Georgia Island in the South Atlantic."

"Why haven't you told Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione nearly screeched.

"What do you know of Dumbledore?" Hestia asked.

"He's the headmaster of Hogwarts, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and the leader of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione recited.

"Were you aware that he secreted Harry Potter off to his muggle aunt and uncle's after his parents' death and magically hid him there until he turned eleven?" Hestia asked.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Were you aware that he caused Harry's parents' will to be sealed before it could be read?" Hestia asked next.

"No," Hermione said. "Why would he do that?"

"Were you aware that Sirius Black was innocent, and never had a trial?" Hestia asked.

"Yes," Hermione agreed.

"Were you aware that Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in 1981? That he was aware that Sirius Black was denied a trial, but did nothing, allowing him to be imprisoned?" Hestia asked.

"What? No!" Hermione gasped. "Why would he do that?"

"Why indeed," Hestia said softly. "Why, in the intervening years did he not request a trial for Sirius Black? Why did he ask that the Potters' will be sealed? He holds three of the most important offices in government, and is the self-proclaimed leader of the light faction in the Wizengamot. Doesn't all this seem strange to you?

"I'll have to think on that," Hermione said.

"I'll leave off with this…" Hestia said. "Think back on the things you experienced at Hogwarts over the years. Has Dumbledore always acted in Harry's best interest? Or yours? He is your magical guardian as well as Harry's. He is the magical guardian of all muggleborn and other students who lack a magical guardian. Can you trust Dumbledore to act in your best interest in the future? Dumbledore is convinced that Harry must sacrifice himself so that Voldemort can be defeated. It is part of his plan… a plan he's shared with most of the Order. Sirius vigorously fought that plan, but was still working to stop it. Now, he's not around to stop it."

"Fuck," Hermione swore.

The Justice, Trade, Treasury, Culture, and Environment Ministers had all come and gone. Education had just wrapped up a discussion of the Avalonian school system including the Royal University of Avalon and the two trade schools. Harry was impressed. The Avalonian education system was far better than the British magical education system. He thanked the minister, and watched her leave.

"How many more?" Harry asked Tom.

"Just two: Transportation and Infrastructure, and Defence," Tom replied, and left. A moment later he returned with an elderly gentleman. "This is the Transportation and Infrastructure Minister, Tom Jones."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jones," Harry said, shaking his hand. "No relation to the singer, I assume?"

"No, Your Majesty," Jones chuckled. He either hadn't gotten tired of that joke yet, or he was humouring Harry.

"So tell me about Transportation and Infrastructure," Harry ordered.

"Sir, I'll address transportation first," Jones began. "We have all the same methods of transportation that most magical and most muggle societies have. The ministry maintains a network of class A and class B roads, which you'll be familiar with from Britain. We don't have any motorways, however. City and village streets are maintained by the local councils. Most people use cars to get about outside of cities. The Vehicle Licensing Office licenses those vehicles, as well as brooms, private aircraft, and private watercraft.

"The Royal Railway, which you own, but we operate on your behalf, connects all five major population centres on the Island of Avalon, with stops at smaller villages and towns between them," Jones explained. "Royal Rail also moves the majority of the country's freight within the country. It uses modified steam locomotives where the water is heated by magic, reducing pollution. Camelot, Port Arthur, and Pen Rhionydd have mass transit composed of streetcars which run on magic, but those are operated by the local councils as well.

"Avalon Air, which you also own, is the Avalonian flag airline," Jones continued. "It operates out of the two commercial airports in Avalon: Camelot and Port Arthur. It offers daily service to Shannon, Dublin, Edinburgh, London via London City Airport, Paris, and Amsterdam flying fourteen magically modified BAe 146-300 aircraft. We operate the airline on your behalf, as well as operate the airports.

"Port Arthur Royal Carrier Enterprises Limited (or PARCEL) is the largest maritime shipping company in Avalon," Jones said, "responsible for over seventy percent of the merchant tonnage of Avalonian companies. PARCEL ships goods worldwide using a fleet of container ships. Other large companies include the Channel Company, a regional shipping company, and Avalon Ferries, the only ferry service from Avalon, connecting it with Plymouth, Brest, and Cork. Our ministry regulates shipping and oversees the port facilities.

"When it comes to magical travel, we operate the national floo system, as well as the hidden international floo connection," Jones finished up. "We regulate portkey and broom use, as well. The rule is you can fly anywhere you want, so long as you're outside of the airport and air base areas. Portkeys aren't allowed to end in anyone's home or business unless you own it.

"When it comes to infrastructure," Jones said, "we operate a two hundred megawatt power plant that uses magic to turn the generators. We exclusively use buried cables for power and other utilities. The Avalon Telecom Office operates the telephones and they have a good working relationship with the Avalon Power Office. We also run water and sewer utilities through the Avalon Water Office. The engineering office takes care of other infrastructure, such as government buildings and bridges. That concludes my presentation."

"Good brief," Harry said. "I'll be running around for a while, and I'm excited to see how the magical and muggle transportation systems are integrated. Do you have any questions or concerns for me?"

"No, sir," Jones replied. "I think you'll find we run quite the tight ship at Transportation and Infrastructure."

"Thank you for your time," Harry said, shaking the man's hand before he left. As the door closed, he sank back into his chair and sighed. "One more?"

"One more," Tom acknowledged. "But it's not easy. I'll be right back." He disappeared through the door for a moment before reappearing with the Duke of Avalon. He was in his fifties, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair combed neatly. He had icy blue eyes, and squared shoulders. He wore an olive uniform with the crown, pip, and crossed baton and sword of a general on his epaulettes.

"Good afternoon, Lord Avalon," Harry said in greeting, shaking his hand.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," the duke replied warmly.

"Please sit," Harry said, gesturing to the chair, then sat himself. "So, tell me about the Ministry of Defence."

"Avalon maintains a small active armed force comprised of the Royal Army, the Royal Navy, and Royal Air Force. The active duty Army is primarily ceremonial in nature, while the Navy and RAF do provide some actual service," the duke explained. "The active component of the military number approximately four thousand personnel. The rank structure and general organisation mirrors the British Armed Forces.

"As King, you are the commander-in-chief of the Armed Forces, and act as Field Marshal, Admiral of the Fleet, and Marshal of the RAF," the duke reminded him. "As Defence Minister, I hold the rank of General, and act as your chief of staff. Each branch is led by the equivalent to a NATO OF-8: a Lieutenant General commands the Army, a Vice Admiral commands the Navy, and an Air Marshal commands the Air Force.

"The majority of the Avalonian Armed Forces are reserves, who train two days a month, and two weeks during the summer," the duke said. "Service in the reserves is compulsory from age 18 until age 25, for muggles, magicals, and high elves, though a deferment may be obtained until university is completed, at which point the eight year commitment is activated."

"What about house elves?" Harry asked.

"Reserve service is compulsory for them from age four to eleven," the duke replied. "The Avalonian military does not discriminate between men and women, or with regard to race, religion, sexual orientation, or magical ability. The only restriction is that all house elves are restricted to service on Avalon, or in the Royal Navy below decks, and that high elves use a glamour charm to disguise their ears, so as not to violate the statute of secrecy.

"Once activated, the Royal Army consists of a division and several independent regiments. The division has three brigades: 1st Guards Brigade, 2nd Airborne Brigade, and 3rd Armoured Brigade. The Army and 1st Division are headquartered here at Camelot Castle, which is guarded by the King's Guards and their attachments. 1st Guards Brigade is based here and at the nearby Lancelot Barracks. 2nd Airborne Brigade and most of the Army support troops are based at Fort Hector in the north. It's also where our training establishment is located. 3rd Armoured Brigade is based at Fort Winthrop on the south-east coast with the remainder of the Division's troops. At full strength, the Royal Army fields approximately sixteen and a half thousand soldiers. We use magically modified arms and vehicles of British origin that enhance our capabilities.

"The Royal Navy consists of sixteen ships which have been modified from the original British pattern to use magic for propulsion, steering, ammunition handling, weapons, protection, navigation, and communication," the duke continued. "From the outside, the vessels retain the appearance of the British ships they're based on. Our ships are HMS Avalon, an Audacious-class aircraft carrier; HMS King Arthur, a Lion-class battleship; HMS Camelot, a York-class heavy cruiser; HMS Dragon, a Tiger-class light cruiser; eight Daring-class destroyers: HMS Brittia, HMS Celliwig, HMS Sarras, HMS Annwn, HMS Exeter, HMS Cameliard, HMS Potter, and HMS Glastonbury; HMS Galahad, an Algerine-class minesweeper; HMS Daring, a Fearless-class landing platform dock; and two River-class patrol craft: HMS Twe, and HMS Dye. All but HMS Twe and HMS Dye are in magical stasis pending recall to active service, though HMS Avalon is activated one week a year to provide carrier flight training to members of the RAF. We don't have a Fleet Air Arm, all military aircraft are operated by the RAF. The main Navy base is HMNB Kettleburn on Kettleburn Island. The ships in stasis are docked there and much of the training takes place there. HMNB Port Arthur is the other Navy base. HMS Twe and HMS Dye operate out of there. At full strength, the Royal Navy consists of nine thousand sailors.

"At full strength the RAF consists of three groups, numbered one through three," the duke told him. "1 Group is based out of RAF Camelot and is our air combat group. 2 Group is based out of RAF Port Arthur and is our combat support group. 3 Group is based out of RAF Otterthorpe and is our training and support group. RAF Nanstow is maintained as an auxiliary base. At full strength, the RAF consists of thirteen and a half thousand personnel and two hundred eighty-six aircraft. We operate magically modified versions of the Panavia Tornado, McDonnell Douglas Phantom, SEPECAT Jaguar, Blackburn Buccaneer, English Electric Canberra, Boeing Sentry, Hawker Dominie, Lockheed Hercules, McDonnell Douglas Globemaster, Fairey Gannet, Westland Sea King, McDonnell Douglas Apache, Westland Lynx, Boeing Chinook, Scottish Aviation Bulldog, BAe Hawk, Handley Page Jetstream, and Westland Gazelle.

"To help control the three branches, there are ten directorates," the duke explained. "They are Aviation, the Adjutant-General, Engineers, Finance, the Judge Advocate-General, Military Intelligence, Military Operation, Ordnance, the Quartermaster-General, and Ships. With the exception of Military Intelligence these are the office workers who make sure the military runs smoothly. They're mostly based here in the castle. MI runs intelligence and counter-intelligence operations world-wide, keeping us informed of what's going on. They cooperate closely with the Foreign Office.

"Speaking of foreign operations," the duke segued neatly, "Avalon is closely allied with, though not subordinate to, Great Britain. In 1800, 1914 and 1939, Avalon sent regiments for service in the British Army. These regiments' origins were hidden by assigning them as battalions to existing British regiments. Navy units were also dispatched in all cases, usually operating under their actual names. It's fairly easy to hide the identity of a ship when it bears the title HMS in a fleet of other ships also bearing that title. In 1939, RAF squadrons were also sent, serving abroad for the duration of World War II. Five thousand three hundred seventy-one Avalonians have died in war since 830 AD. The Great War was the hardest, with over three thousand dead.

"We've also seen fit to modify the wards in wartime to allow British access to Avalon," the duke revealed. "In 1914, Avalon leased Kettleburn Island, in the south, to the British Royal Navy, which established small destroyer and seaplane base there. When World War I ended, the base was transferred to our Navy. In 1939, Avalon leased land on Avalon proper for a British RAF base—now RAF Nanstow. The British RAF operated fighters, bombers, and maritime patrol craft out of RAF Nanstow until the end of the war. With the onset of the Cold War, the British RAF again saw use for the base, returning in 1962 with the advent of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The British RAF finally quit the field for good in 1975, turning it over to us."

"When you say magically modified, what do you mean?" Harry asked, going back to an earlier topic.

"We add rune sets to various pieces of equipment," the duke replied. "Things like space expansion runes, magically powered engines, magical reinforcement, magical adhesion, magical heating or cooling, notice-me-not runes, featherweight runes, and silencing runes to name a few. For instance, a rifle magazine might be magically expanded and lightened so that it can hold five hundred rounds instead of thirty. A tank might be able to fire its cannon twice as far as a normal cannon, hold a hundred times as much ammo, drive twice as fast, identify targets more easily, and be better camouflaged than normal tanks, as well as never having to refuel, never throwing track, being virtually impenetrable to enemy fire, and emitting no engine noise. Artillery can reach twice as far and be more destructive. Aeroplanes can fly faster, be more manoeuvrable, carry more ammunition... Need I go on?"

"No, you've made your point," Harry agreed. "How do they fare against magicals?"

"We've never been to war with magicals," the duke allowed. "Every magical member of the armed forces carries their wand if they have one, and are taught to use them as backup weapons. We've practised casting shields, and discovered that while it helps against most spells, it doesn't work well against bullets and shells. Magicals aren't fast enough to outcast a bullet, and our bullets have runes in them making them impossible to deflect or otherwise affect magically. Even if they get a shield up, most shields won't stop physical objects. Those that do use more magical power than those that don't, and repeatedly striking such a shield wears down the caster at a ridiculous rate. Concentrated fire can usually crack a shield in moments. Shells and bombs will overpower such a shield immediately. Furthermore, our rifles and other personal equipment have runesets making them impossible to be summoned using magic. We also practice tactical apparition and portkeying, in case we get into a magical war. We don't have a strategic portkey capability, as we can't portkey through the wards of Avalon, however, we can shrink most of our equipment down small enough to load it all on one ship or several aircraft.

"So we have a nearly invincible military force?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no," the duke replied. "While it would be capable of taking on a force ten times its size in the muggle world, or two or three times its size in the magical world, it's not invincible. They can still die. They're still affected by gas, biological, or nuclear weapons. We still have to supply them and maintain their weapons. We've made it easier, but in war nothing is certain."

"Nothing is certain?" Harry pressed.

"Nothing is certain in war. The great German strategist Helmut von Moltke said no plan survives contact with the enemy. For that reason, soldiers like to ensure the deck is stacked in their favour before they even begin," the duke instructed. "It helps to ensure success. The American Army doctrine says that a force needs to outnumber the enemy three to one if they want to be successful in an attack."

"So how do you stack the deck?" Harry asked.

"The first step is knowing everything you can about the enemy and his dispositions, and restricting his knowledge of you and yours," the duke explained. "Second, like the Americans say, bring overwhelming force to bear on the point you decide: more and better manpower and equipment. Third, if possible, strike where the enemy doesn't expect. Have you heard the term 'fair fight'?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Soldiers try to never have a fair fight," the duke said bluntly. "If soldiers become engaged in a fair fight they've done something wrong. If we've done it right, the enemy will be dead before they know we're there. If we've done it mostly right, they'll feel us come down on them like the fist of an angry god before they either run or die."

"Wow," Harry sighed. "That sounds completely different from what I've heard in the past."

"Oh? What's that, sir?" the duke asked.

"Professor Dumbledore would say that we must use as little force as necessary, so that we can reform the enemy once it's all over," Harry said. "He disapproves of lethal spells, and always uses stunners."

"I know about Albus Dumbledore," the duke revealed. "The man is not a soldier. He's not even a police officer. He's a teacher and a politician. While a police officer might use non-lethal force to subdue a criminal, what has exploded into public in Britain isn't crime, it's a war, even if Dumbledore doesn't see it. In war, you shoot to kill. Whoever survives can be rehabilitated after the war is over. The American General George Patton famously said, 'No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making some other poor dumb bastard die for his country.' Fortunately, we don't have to worry about Britain."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we try to help them?"

"Avalon's policy is that it doesn't get involved in the internal affairs of other nations," the duke said. "It's why we didn't send troops to fight in Ireland in 1688, or in Scotland in 1745, or in America in 1775, or in South Africa in 1899, or in India or China ever. We do not assist or hinder Britain's civil wars or rebellions. We learnt that lesson the hard way."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"In 1642 the King sent troops to help King Charles," the duke explained. "When the Royalists lost, Cromwell cut off contact and nearly revealed the secret of Avalon to the British magicals. Our activities in Britain had to be severely curtailed, and our economy was depressed for quite some time afterwards. It was only when Charles' son retook the throne that we got any measure of trade back with Britain."

"Thank you for telling me," Harry said, still thoughtful.

"It's my job to ensure you're properly informed about military matters, including policy," the duke shrugged. "I wouldn't be doing my job otherwise."

"Do you have any requests of me at this time?" Harry asked.

"None spring to mind, sir," the duke replied.

"Alright," Harry allowed. "I won't keep you, then." He stood, and the duke followed suit. Another handshake and he was gone. "Is that all?" Harry asked Tom.

"You are done with your formal meetings for the day," Tom replied. "However, my father requested some time with you. He suggested meeting in the garden."

"My head just feels crammed full of knowledge," Harry complained. "I don't know how much more I can take today."

"This should be more of a… discussion, than a lesson," Tom consoled. "He should be waiting for you at the fountain."

Harry left his office, and followed the halls to the main entrance. Breaking into the sunshine, he spotted Charlus sitting peacefully on the edge of the fountain, absent-mindedly playing in the fountain with one hand.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry asked, approaching.

"I thought you might want to talk about the future," Charlus replied with a smile. "Though it would involve delving into the past a bit."

"I suppose," Harry shrugged.

"You are familiar with Albus Dumbledore," Charlus said. Harry nodded. "In the spring of 1980 there was a prophecy given which I believe you're familiar with." Again, Harry nodded. "Excellent. That prophecy led Albus to believe that you must sacrifice yourself in order for Voldemort to be defeated." Harry's eyes widened. "To ensure that outcome was possible, he took several steps. First, he hid your parents to keep you safe. When that didn't work, he manipulated the Ministry into giving him guardianship of you, and he hid you from the public under, shall we say, less than legal wards. Part of that was allowing Sirius Black to take the fall for your parents' deaths.

"The next phase of his operation was convincing a family to assist him in shaping you once he could no longer sequester you from the public," Charlus continued. "To this end, he enlisted the Weasley family. Molly Weasley was fairly easy to manipulate, as she was already a devoted follower. He simply promised that you would wed the Weasley daughter when you both came of age, thus providing for at least a portion of the Weasley family in perpetuity. This was to be accomplished through the administration of love potions over the next two years."

"That sounds illegal. He was going to allow that?" Harry gasped.

"It is, and it was his idea," Charlus revealed. "In fact, it took some convincing from both Albus and Molly for Miss Weasley to agree to go along with the plan. Molly had to reveal to her that she had used a love potion to snare Arthur, and she played it off as something 'normal' witches do. In furtherance of their goals, your first meeting at King's Cross was planned. Molly knew exactly where she was going, but she still said 'muggles' and wondered where Platform 9¾ was out loud, so you'd hear. It was suggested to Ron that he become your friend."

"Do he and Ginny know about the plan?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.

"Not as such," Charlus replied. "From what we know, Molly suggested that Ron should be your friend, and daydreamed in Ginny's presence that Ginny would marry you, thus allowing her to begin to conceive of such a thing, but not how or why those things should be accomplished. Albus also has spoken to Ron several times about 'protecting' you from others who might be 'bad influences'. When he saw that you'd become friends, he called Ron to his office for the first of many talks about that. It was one reason Ron treated Miss Granger so poorly your first year. He was trying to keep her away from you. It's also why you never developed friendships with others outside your house."

"Does Hermione know?" Harry asked.

"No," Charlus said. "Miss Granger was eventually deemed acceptable by Albus, as she had poor social skills, and lacks basic knowledge of the magical world as a muggleborn. She would be as handicapped as you."

"But I made friends with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood," Harry protested.

"Mr. Longbottom has been threatened privately by Ron on several occasions," Charlus said. "Miss Lovegood has been a friend of Miss Weasley since infancy, and Miss Weasley reported she's mentally unstable. They also both happen to be socially isolated and vulnerable. By pairing you with awkward, unpopular students, Albus hoped that the treatment you received from your mother's relatives would continue at school, and this has been born out, although he did help it along more than a bit."

"How'd he do that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Besides Ron's assiduous monopolization of your time which caused you to be seen as aloof, Albus anonymously authored some well-timed pieces in the Daily Prophet which painted you in a bad light, in order to reduce your popularity," Charlus said. "He also placed minor compulsion charms around the entrances to the other houses causing them to dislike you. He felt if you were depressed, you'd be more willing to sacrifice yourself."

"That's insane," Harry goggled. "I'd be more likely to off myself, but I wouldn't give a fig about the rest of them. What a nutter."

"Quite," Charlus chuckled. "To further his goal, he would test you. In 1991 he lured Voldemort to Hogwarts using the Philosopher's Stone to test some theories he had about why you both cheated death. In 1992, he knew there was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, but didn't tell you. You proved to him the next spring that you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of others when you entered the Chamber in pursuit of Miss Weasley. He sent Fawkes after you. In 1993, he carefully orchestrated the entire search for Sirius Black so that not only were the dementors at Hogwarts, but that you had a time turner available to fix any mistakes you made. In 1994 Albus could've easily gotten you out of the Triwizard Tournament using his status as your magical guardian, however he did not, preferring to goad you into once again placing your life in danger for the sacrifice of others. He also knew that Mr. Crouch was impersonating Mr. Moody, but did nothing. This past year he continued to manipulate events to suit his fancy. The resurrection of Voldemort backfired when Minister Fudge refused to believe him, so he orchestrated the scheme to get Voldemort to go to the Ministry and battle Albus in the open, both demonstrating that Voldemort was back, and that Albus was the only one capable of dealing with him."

"Why would he do all that?" Harry asked.

"Albus very much needs to be in charge," Charlus responded. "When Voldemort was defeated but did not die in 1981, he was thrown for a loop. He was reckoning on having at least ten more years of war to use to enact his plans."

"What plans?" Harry asked.

"From hints he's dropped, we've been able to piece together some idea, but we're not sure," Charlus said. "The Wizengamot is a pseudo-representative body, neither completely democratic in nature, nor purely oligarchical. Albus is a bit of an odd duck. He holds to many of the old ways, but is excited that new people are being brought into the magical fold as it were. It would seem that he would prefer that the Wizengamot become a smaller appointed body that unifies with the Minister's position to form a true oligarchy: a small group of light-sided purebloods in control, due to their wisdom and unified beliefs, preferably with Albus as a first among equals. This would have the effect of continuing what he sees as the better traditions of Magical Britain, while at the same time ending the darker traditions."

"That's ridiculous," Harry observed. "I mean, nobody runs a government like that these days."

"He's too old and too 'light' to wish for a dictatorship," Charlus said. "Britain already has a monarch, and he's not noble, so he can't have himself declared king, besides he has no children to succeed him. The oligarchy fits with his love of knowledge and his ability to turn people to his way of thinking, as he did with your parents. Unfortunately, that success is also part of his downfall."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"He has come to believe his own press, as it were," Charlus replied with a snort. "He understands that he has the ability to convince allies and light-sided neutrals to see his point of view, and foolishly believes that that ability carries over to all, or at least most, grey and dark magicals. It's why he's developed his current strategy. Namely: sacrifice a few allies, in an attempt to convert all the grey and dark families into light-side allies. The problem with his strategy is two-fold. One, he doesn't give his sacrificial lambs agency by providing them the information they need to make fully informed decisions, and two, his powers of persuasion won't work on most grey and dark families as they're too set in their ways."

"What's the proper strategy?" Harry asked, wondering what his great uncle thought.

"If it were me," Charlus began. "I'd protect my allies and sacrifice the dark families. With the dark families gone and a sizeable number of light-sided allies, the grey families would be easier to convince to follow his vision."

"That's pretty much what the Duke of Avalon said," Harry revealed.

"One of your duties as King is to make decisions effecting the lives of others," Charlus said. "When in doubt, always try to keep your people alive. If that means your enemies are dead, so be it. Good people deserve to be able to celebrate life now, not only once they've passed on. Bad people shouldn't be given the chance to enjoy life now on the off chance they'll be punished in the afterlife. Don't worry about your enemies souls. They've made their beds. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Good," Charlus said. "Now, let's talk about your future…"

It was after dark when Hestia finally left the Granger residence and she had a predatory smile on her face. Hermione had gone from uncomprehensive to pale to bloody furious over the course of about fifteen minutes, but had finally settled to a simmer of hatred, mostly focused on Albus Dumbledore, but with a healthy batch of anger remaining for a certain three Weasleys. It was that state that her parents discovered her in upon their arrival home, which necessitated another round of explanations. Hermione was planning a visit to Diagon Alley for the next day to obtain reference material relating to foreign schools.

The upshot was that the Granger parents were on board, and Hermione had already written a letter to Madam Maxime asking about the possibility of moving her studies to Beauxbatons, and was planning on composing another letter to Ilvermorny, but had no idea whom to address it to. She'd already discarded the idea of attending Durmstrang, as, while she did speak French, she didn't speak any other languages. It was for that same reason that she'd discounted Castelobruxo in Brazil, Koldovstoretz in Russia, and Mahoutokoro in Japan. Aside from posting her letter to Beauxbatons, and researching the head of Ilvermorny, she'd attempt to find out if Uagadou taught in English or French, or whether they used another language. She was thinking they probably instructed in English, as the school was located in Uganda, but she couldn't be certain.

As she waved goodbye to the Grangers, Hestia smiled thinking that another of Albus' plans had already begun to unravel. She'd visit Long Hall tomorrow, and try to gauge where Mr. Longbottom was… if she could manage to get him out from under his grandmother's thumb, that is.

She popped back to the flat that MI6 rented for her and Megan in East Sheen.

"How'd it go?" Megan asked from her spot in front of the telly. Take away cartons were in front of her. After visiting her parents in Port Arthur, she'd flown back to maintain her cover.

"You might not have to go back to Hogwarts next year," Hestia informed her.

"That good, huh?" Megan smirked.

"Your sister's apparently Irish, as I seem to have inherited the gift of gab," Hestia replied. "If I do as well at the Longbottom's tomorrow, we should have nothing to worry about."

"Finally," Megan sighed. "The summer catch up's been hell. Why can't Hogwarts teach everything?"

"'Cause they don't care about innovation or muggle tech," Hestia replied. "They're satisfied living in the dark ages."

"You'd think they'd step outside and see what the muggles've done, and say, 'that's a bloody good idea!'" Megan groused. "But no, they've got their heads so far up their arses…"

"Megan!" Hestia scolded. Then she changed track. "So, what'd you get me for dinner?"

"Chinese," was the expected reply. Hestia smiled as she fell onto the couch. Life was pretty good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Exodus**

In the past hour Harry had come to discover that he rather liked history, at least when it wasn't taught by a bigoted ghost. His 'mundane subjects' tutor, Professor Roberts, taught history, government, English, French, maths, and the sciences, as well as physical education, music, and art. Those classes would be Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays beginning after his morning briefing, and continuing until supper.

The day's lessons had begun with physical education just after waking up. After some light callisthenics, Professor Roberts had him run around the garden ten times, which exhausted him. A quick shower and breakfast later, Harry was immersed in Tom's morning briefing. Then Professor Roberts reappeared and began maths, which Harry hadn't touched since primary school, and was woefully deficient in for his age. This had improved slightly with government, but had devolved almost immediately when they began a general survey of science and the scientific method. French had followed, which, given he'd never studied the language, had gone rather well. History improved his mood even more.

"That is all for today, sir," Professor Roberts said in her sharp voice. It had taken some getting used to, but Harry appreciated that she seemed to know what she was doing. She reminded him of McGonagall, if McGonagall had been a muggle.

"There's no revision?" Harry asked.

"Aside from the fact that you've no time for it, the purpose for revision is to test the student's comprehension of the material," Professor Roberts told him. "I can do that when we're together. It's one of the advantages of instructing one on one. I can also move as fast or as slow as you need in order for you to retain the materials."

"So, slow at the beginning, then?" Harry chuckled.

"Not at all, sir," Professor Roberts admitted. "We've actually been able to skip quite a bit of material once I realized that you already understood it. We'd based your knowledge of muggle subjects off your primary school grades, which we were able to obtain recently. After one day, it's obvious that you know more than you let on at school, so I was able to bypass most of the review I'd planned."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "My aunt and uncle didn't like me to show up my cousin, Dudley, so after a year or so, I learned to dumb down my answers so they'd ignore me."

"Well, sir," Professor Roberts said disconcertedly. "Regardless, we've actually skipped about two weeks worth of instruction in maths, English, and science. Since we're teaching Avalonian history and government, we won't be skipping ahead on those, and your lack of knowledge of French is something we need to address. Otherwise, I'm quite pleased with how quickly you're picking up the concepts I'm introducing to you. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave, and see you on Monday."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, gratefully. He'd barely leaned back after she'd left when Tom entered.

"It's time for supper," Tom informed him. "Then you have unscheduled time until bed." Harry stood and followed as Tom led him to the private dining room. As Tom left, Harry sat, rubbing his temples, and the food appeared before him. Once he smelled it, he realized how hungry he was and began eating. When he'd arrived at Hogwarts, he thought the food was head and shoulders above what Aunt Petunia made, or allowed him to make. This made Hogwarts taste like a manky boot. He piled his plate with roast beef, roasted rosemary potatoes, green beans, and bread. When that was gone, a treacle tart appeared. Someone had done their homework.

The only sad bit, Harry realized, was that he was alone. His friends were in England. His family was off with each other. It gave Harry quite a bit of time to ponder. While he ate, Harry thought about how much he'd gained in such a little time… and how much he'd lost. He considered what his friends meant to him, and what he was willing to do for them. This led him to think on his responsibilities to his new country. He thought about the differences between Magical Britain and Avalon: the education, the technology, the outlook of its populace.

As a muggle-raised magical, he could easily see the muggleborn perspective. Magical society was cloistered, private, and scared of its own shadow. While he had an in due to his birth, and his fame, muggleborns did not. He'd watched Hermione struggle. He thought about his tutor, Professor Roberts, a muggle herself, who'd accomplished much despite lacking magic in a mostly magical community. Apparently, she wasn't alone. Most muggles and squibs in Avalon compensated for their lack of magic by turning to academic or business pursuits. Such a thing would be as unthinkable in Magical Britain as a rising dark lord would be in Avalon. If only there were a way to help the muggleborns and squibs of Britain…

When he was done eating, Harry wandered the royal apartments, trying to discover his new home's secrets, but really just finding a bunch of empty rooms. He returned to his sitting room and sat on a couch. He'd noticed the large telly the day before, but hadn't had the opportunity to watch it. Tom had explained to him that delicate electronic devices in Avalon were shielded from magic using rune clusters that blocked the magical energy from reaching the integrated circuits, microchips, and wiring. It allowed magic to be used in proximity to the electronics.

Harry picked up the remote and flipped the telly on. There was a news programme on, with a man talking about a bill before Parliament. Behind him on the wall was 'ABC 1 News'. Having had enough thinking for the day, Harry switched the channel. ABC 2 showed a rugby match between two teams: the Port Arthur Knights, and the Otterthorpe Otters. The score in the corner showed the Knights up eighteen to seven. He flipped channels again. ABC 3 was playing a sitcom set in Camelot. He flipped again, and was brought back to the news. He immediately flipped back to the sitcom and relaxed.

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While other teens had off, Saturday was a school day for Harry. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Professor Owen taught the magical subjects: charms, transfiguration, potions, defence, herbology, runes, arithmancy, and magical creatures. Professor Owen was a younger man in his early thirties, who was very upbeat with brown eyes that danced with excitement.

He started Harry with charms, which Harry did passably well at. He followed with potions, which Harry found much easier without Snape breathing down his neck. Defence followed, which despite having a different instructor each year, Harry excelled at. Then things slowed down when Professor Owen introduced Harry to arithmancy, which broke spells down mathematically and showed how and why they worked. Once the principles were explained to him, Harry understood fairly well. They then talked over lunch.

The afternoon started with transfiguration, which was followed by herbology. The study of magical creatures came next. Harry was flagging by the time the last class of the day—runes—rolled around.

"While important to manufacturing in other countries, runes are especially important in Avalon," Professor Owen told Harry. "Runes are a way of permanently affixing spells to objects. Runes make our cars run. They make our brooms fly. They allow us to watch the telly. They are also the basis for our defence in the form of our wards. With the proper rune set, you can do anything you can do with a wand, only it's permanent. You can also activate and deactivate rune clusters, turning things on and off."

Professor Owen started Harry out with Norse Runes. It was a little difficult for Harry at first, but then Professor Owen tied everything together by explaining that runes were the composite result of applied arithmancy in the form of a foreign written language, much like computer code. Harry then tapped the paper with his wand and the paper lit up. It was almost instantly consumed with fire.

"What happened?" Harry asked, staring at the ash on the table.

"Paper is a combustible medium," Professor Owen explained. "Magical power, much like electricity, causes heat, which can cause combustion. Runes work much better when carved in metal or stone. Wood works too."

"Isn't wood combustible?" Harry asked.

"One of the things you'll learn are runic clusters that reduce heat transfer onto the medium used, as well as cooling clusters," Professor Owen explained. "Using clusters like those, we'll eventually create a lighting cluster on paper that won't combust. But that's in the future. For now, we need to focus on the runic alphabet." Harry looked back at the book open to the page for the Norse alphabet and sighed.

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June 30, 1996 was a Sunday, and Harry's very first day off. Except, as King, even a king with a regent, he didn't really get days off. While eating breakfast, Harry received his morning briefing from Charlus and Tom. It was very informal, but could still be considered work. Tom covered government business first, of which, being Sunday, there was none. There was little noteworthy occurring in Avalon, aside from sport. It wasn't until Charlus began with the international news that Harry perked up.

"Albus knows you're missing, and has initiated a search for you," Charlus said. "He sent twelve members of the Order of the Phoenix out on a wild goose chase. Right now he thinks you're on an island in the central or south Atlantic."

"Why would he think I was there?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"He sent an owl after you and when it flew through our wards, the tracking charm was stripped away," Charlus explained. "Since we kept the bird, he assumed the bird had died, and the tracking charm failed. He reasoned that you were at one of the islands along the bird's presumed flightpath."

"That would make sense," Harry mused.

"Unfortunately, what Albus knows, Voldemort also knows," Charlus said. "It would seem that with you gone, and most of the best members of the Order of the Phoenix searching for you, he's feeling bold. He's ordered his Death Eaters to begin targeting muggles and muggleborn. Yesterday, some Death Eaters collapsed the Brockdale Bridge. Other attacks occurred in Diagon Alley and York. Florean Fortescue was kidnapped and possibly killed. The attack in York was definitely targeting a muggleborn witch. The Diagon Alley attack injured a number of half-blood and muggleborn magicals, but we think that was a diversion to cover the kidnapping of Fortescue."

"That's awful," Harry observed. "What can Avalon do to help?"

"It's not Avalon's place to help," Charlus replied.

"How can you say that?" Harry asked.

"We don't involve ourselves with the internal affairs of Britain," Charlus said.

"Lord Avalon said that we didn't become militarily involved," Harry countered. "He didn't say anything about us helping."

"I suppose you could invite them to move onto your properties in Britain," Charlus mused. "You do have five million acres. A few Fidelius charms, properly applied…"

"Why can't we invite them to move here?" Harry asked. "The British magical community has made it perfectly clear that they're not interested in the welfare of British muggleborns, squibs, or their families. I bloody well am."

"Impossible," Charlus said immediately.

"It bloody well isn't!" Harry insisted. "We have effing aeroplanes. We have ships. We contact them family by family, convince them to come, load them in planes or ships, let them through the wards, and they're here."

"What my father is trying to say—poorly—is that such a thing's never been done before," Tom interjected. "We'd need to find the families, contact them, invent a cover story which they'll later learn was a lie, by the way… The move itself is the easy part. Once they're here, we have to house them and find ways for them to make their own way in society; a society, which, by the way, is very different from their own."

"Wow," Harry said, gobsmacked. "We have the resources of an entire nation at our disposal, and you're telling me that the relocation and integration of a few thousand people is impossible." He put his knife and fork down. "The effing Death Eaters seem to know who the muggleborns and squibs are! Why don't we? Use Ministry and Hogwarts records to find out who they are and where they live. Then we send MI6 to visit and tell them there's an English speaking foreign country that's willing to harbour them and keep them safe, not just until this blows over, but for all time. If they want to come, great. If not, give them a card for a number they can call if they reconsider. We can't bring everyone at once, so we start small, and have the first new people build the houses and stuff necessary to put a roof over everyone's head. If you want, we can even set up a new, separate city of just refugees, but I don't like that, as it would make everyone feel as though they were different and make people distrust each other. I'd prefer if we just expanded Camelot and Port Arthur a bit. Finally, I don't think that this society is so different from theirs. We're talking about muggleborn magicals and nonmagicals who already know the magical world exists. They understand both to some extent, and Avalon is enough like what they know as to feel comfortable."

"He makes some valid points," Tom observed to Charlus.

"It'd take at least a month to put together," Charlus said, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. "And it'd take a lot of work to get the Prime Minister on board."

"Really?" Harry asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've not met a politician who wouldn't salivate at the chance to gain a few thousand loyal voters. We'd be practically delivering them to his doorstep."

"I could sell it that way," Charlus began nodding. "They won't all come, you know."

"That's not on my conscience," Harry said. "That'll be on theirs. We have to at least give them a chance."

"I'll have six start running the numbers," Charlus said, rising, breakfast finished. "I'll present it to the PM on Wednesday, once we've gotten the kinks worked out." With that, Charlus was gone.

"I don't think I've seen him move that fast in a decade," Tom observed.

"I can't believe he wanted to move them onto Potter land in Britain," Harry said.

"He was just testing you," Tom replied. "To see if you'd thought it out. I know he's been kicking around some ideas for a while now. Not what you've come up with, but he wanted to do something too. A few of those muggleborn already live on Potter land, and he wanted to help them."

"Really?" Harry asked. Tom nodded.

"Ever since your parents used the Fidelius to hide in 1981, Charlus has been looking at ways to influence the fight against Voldemort, and to see him dead," Tom revealed. "This would be a great way of sticking it to him, and Albus Dumbledore as well, which is a nice bonus."

"Why did my parents hide instead of coming here?" Harry asked.

"The Potters were well connected in Britain long before they became kings," Tom began. "They've served the crown there well, and been rewarded with lands and titles. A unique situation developed when the Potters took the Avalonian throne. It was a financial boon for Avalon. Eventually, five million acres in Britain were producing funds which flowed into the Potter vaults. Those funds allowed the Potter kings to live independently of their kingdom. Since 1279 Avalonian taxes have never paid for the upkeep of the monarch. The lands in Britain do that. They also pay for Avalon Air, Royal Rail, and other things owned by the King, as well as the King's Guard regiment, which is one of the largest expenses of the Ministry of Defence."

"So they stayed to protect their money?" Harry asked, confused.

"Only your parents know why they stayed," Tom replied. "Though, I think that securing their financial base certainly played a role. I would also suspect that their sense of right and wrong played into their decision. And the fact that their friends were there. In Britain, no one addresses a Potter as 'Your Majesty', and that made them feel normal and accepted."

"I can understand that," Harry said at last. Then he looked at Tom. "What do you think of my idea?"

"I think it will enrich your country and the lives of those you save," Tom replied diplomatically.

"That's good, because my friends are in danger," Harry stated. "I'm free today, right?"

"There are no scheduled activities," Tom allowed.

"Great. I'll see you later," Harry said, and walked out. His first stop was the Ministry of Defence building. A surprised young private led him back to an equally surprised major's office. The weekend duty staff was light. "Hello," he said, brightly. "I was hoping you could answer some questions for me."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the major replied, standing.

"Sit, sit," Harry said, waving him down. "Tell me about the Royal Flight."

"The Royal Flight consists of one Hawker Dominie C.1 aircraft modified for comfort and reserved for your special use, sir," the major replied.

"How fast can it get ready to go?" Harry asked.

"I can call over to the squadron office and have it ready to go in… say three hours?" the major said, looking a little unsure.

"That's fine," Harry replied. "Do that."

"Where shall I say you're going, sir?" the major asked, picking up the phone.

"London, Heathrow, with a fairly quick turnaround," Harry told him. Harry waited while the major placed the call. He took the time to look around the office. There were no flying memos like in the British Ministry. It looked like an office in any modern office building with a computer on the desk, a massive telephone with all sorts of buttons, and paperwork spread out. The major rang off.

"It'll be ready in two hours, sir," the major replied. "It's already cleaned and had maintenance done, they just need to get the staff in." Harry felt bad about disrupting their weekends. Then he realized what he was planning to do, and decided he'd need more help.

"If I'm going to be in a dangerous area," Harry prefaced, "whom should I take to help me out?"

"You mean like a police escort?" the major asked.

"Sort of," Harry replied. "I'm going to get a package from England, and I'm going to need protection. I'll need an adult who can use a wand. I'll need people who can defend themselves and others. And they'll need to be in regular clothes."

"You'll be wanting the SAS, sir," the major replied.

"Avalon has an SAS?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Yes, sir," the major replied. "A Squadron is available, and they have a rapid response capability twenty-four hours a day. One section is standing by ready at all times."

"How many men is that?" Harry asked.

"Eight, sir," the major replied.

"Can I get four of them to come with me in regular clothes?" Harry asked. "They'll probably want to bring their guns and wands."

"Yes, sir," the major answered. "I'll have them waiting at the airport for you."

Harry went back to his bedchamber to change. He put on cargo trousers and a lightweight buttondown with black Doc Martens. He then left in search of David to ask about the car.

Two hours later, Harry arrived at Camelot Airport to find the Royal Flight ready and four men with close-cropped hair and well-built civilian clothes standing nearby.

"Who's in charge?" Harry asked as he approached.

"Leftenant Brotheridge, sir," one of the men said, bracing to attention.

"Did the major tell you what we're doing?" Harry asked.

"We're to escort you as a protective detail, sir," the lieutenant replied.

"Better than I could've said it," Harry replied. "Let's go." The four men followed Harry onto the aircraft.

"Welcome aboard, sir," Sgt. Downes greeted him.

"Thank God you didn't call me 'Your Majesty'," Harry joked as he passed her.

"As military personnel we address you as the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, a notional field marshal," Lieutenant Brotheridge informed him. "Hence, no 'Your Majesty', sir." He took off the small pack he was carrying and sat. The rest of the soldiers sat and immediately went to sleep. They didn't even wait for Sgt. Downes to finish her presentation. In no time, the small jet was airborne and streaking towards Britain.

Upon arrival, they taxied to an out of the way tarmac where a courtesy car was waiting. The car took Harry and the four soldiers to the terminal, from which they walked to the tube station. Harry pulled the address list from his pocket and looked at it. Then he checked the tube map. They took the Piccadilly line in to Hammersmith, then changed to the District line for the Kew Gardens station. Once in Richmond they exited the tube and Harry consulted the map. He identified Holmesdale Road, and set off at a brisk pace. The soldiers hurried to keep up.

Just a few minutes later Harry and the four men were standing in front of a brown brick house that if you'd asked him a week earlier, Harry would've said belonged to someone who was quite rich. He still thought it looked nice. He approached the door and rang the bell. A woman with brown frizzy hair answered the door.

"Can I help y…" she trailed off, looking at him. "Dear Lord, you're Harry Potter! Hermione! Harry Potter's here!"

"Hello, Mrs. Granger," he said. He'd barely got the words out when Hermione slammed into him like a missile.

"Oh my God, I was so worried," Hermione said, wrapping him up in a big hug. "What are you doing here? Don't you know it's not safe?"

"That's why I've brought these blokes," Harry replied, grinning. "Can we come in?"

"Yes!" Hermione nearly shouted. "Come in. Who are you?"

"Leftenant Brotheridge, miss," Brotheridge replied as he entered. "Special Air Service Regiment."

"Why are special forces in my living room?" Mr. Granger asked as he entered.

"Harry's here," Hermione pointed out. "He brought them."

"Hullo, Harry," Mr. Granger said, shaking his hand. Then he turned to Lieutenant Brotheridge. "Dr. Dan Granger, formerly Captain, Second Paras." Harry cocked his head when he heard that.

"Pleasure to meet you sir," Lieutenant Brotheridge said, nodding. Mr. Granger noticed the four men took up dispersed positions around the living room and scanned for threats.

"There's nothing can hurt you in here, except for Crookshanks," Mr. Granger chuckled.

"So, did you ask Hestia Jones to visit me a few days ago?" Hermione asked Harry.

"Did she?" Harry asked. "No, I didn't ask her to. What did she tell you?"

He and Hermione sat, and she proceeded to relay the gist of their conversation, and her decision. "I received an owl from Madam Maxime yesterday with permission to transfer there," she finished. "I'm still waiting on an owl from Ilvermorny."

"Hermione, do you know how dangerous it is right now for you?" Harry asked. She nodded. "Good." He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "How highly do you value Hermione's safety? What would you give up to ensure that she's safe?"

"I'd give my life for Hermione," Mr. Granger growled. "But I'd try to take as many of those bastards as I could with me."

"Would you give up this home, and the life you've built here?" Harry asked. "Would you leave Britain to ensure her safety?"

"What are you saying?" Hermione asked.

"Where I'm staying is safe," Harry said. "There's room for you and your family. But you couldn't tell anyone where you were."

"Where are you staying?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"I won't tell you here," Harry said. "It just isn't safe." He turned to Brotheridge. "Can you check for listening spells and tracking charms?" Brotheridge pulled out his wand and began waving it around. Hermione's hair clasp glowed blue, while her watch glowed red. Hermione gasped. "Get rid of them," Harry instructed Brotheridge. He dispelled them with a wave of his wand. "You can see why I need to exercise caution," he said to Mrs. Granger.

"Yes," Mrs. Granger nodded. Hermione was still too shaken up to speak.

"I'm sorry to uproot you, but I need a decision soon," Harry said. "We haven't much time before Dumbledore or another of the Order arrives. Hermione?"

"Mum? Dad?" Hermione asked, looking at them with begging eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at each other. Mr. Granger nodded minutely.

"We'll go," Mrs. Granger said finally. Hermione's smile got very large.

"Empty the house," Harry ordered. The four soldiers began moving through the house shrinking furniture and knick-knacks and placing them in their packs. They checked each item for monitoring spells, and dispelled the few they found, all of which were in Hermione's room. Within ten minutes, the house was empty save the eight people in the parlour and a disgruntled kneazle in Hermione's arms. "Portkey us to Heathrow, Leftenant Brotheridge."

Brotheridge pulled out his wand and created a portkey from his pack, then held it out for all to grab onto. Once everyone had grabbed hold, Brotheridge tapped his wand to the pack. The moment before they portkeyed away the crack of apparition sounded in the back garden. The door burst open as they popped out of the house, leaving a frustrated Albus Dumbledore standing in an empty kitchen staring at an empty parlour.

"Welcome back, sir," Sgt. Downes said as he led the group onto the plane. "If you'd please take your seats, we'll be departing shortly." The four SAS blades moved to the back of the plane and dropped into the luxury seats the plane afforded without a word. Harry took a seat closer to the front of the plane. The Grangers sat near him. None of them paid attention to the safety briefing, which was rather abbreviated by commercial standards. By the time Sgt. Downes was done, the plane was already queued for takeoff.

"So, care to fill us in?" Mr. Granger asked.

"You're going to a place you've heard of before, but don't believe existed," Harry said. "I'm taking you to Avalon."

"Like King Arthur and Camelot?" Mrs. Granger asked, amused.

"The very same," Harry nodded. "It's a magically sequestered island south of Ireland and west of France. It's been so since the eight hundreds when the Anglo-Saxons pushed the Britons out of Dumnonia, which you know as…"

"Cornwall and Devon," Mr. Granger finished. Everyone looked at him like he was insane. "What? I took several British History classes at uni, including one on post-Roman Britain."

"Dumoninia was, for a time, half of the Kingdom of Avalon," Harry explained. "The rest was the Island of Avalon. When the land in Cornwall was lost in 830, the Avalonians withdrew to Avalon and made everyone abroad forget about the island's existence."

"A Fidelius!" Hermione gasped.

"One of the first," Harry nodded. "Eventually, the charm collapsed, but by then, centuries had passed, and knowledge of the island had faded from memory. Only a few outside of Avalon know of its existence. Her Majesty is one. Other senior government officials in neighbouring nations do too."

"You must have a bit of clout with their government," Mr. Granger observed. "You've got SAS and RAF assets assigned." Sgt. Downes failed to hide a snort of derision as she wheeled the beverage cart over.

"You could say that," Harry said noncommittally. "Though, as you may have suspected, these are actually Avalonian military personnel. We do have an Army, Navy, and Air Force."

"You do?" Mr. Granger asked, surprised.

"As an independent country, Avalon boasts all the trappings of a nation-state, including a proper national government. It's far more than just the Ministry of Magic in the UK. In fact, it's somewhat more progressive than even Her Majesty's Government."

"That's surprising," Mr. Granger conceded.

"Quite," Harry admitted. "At any rate, His Majesty is well informed as to the threat posed to Muggleborns and Squibs in Britain by Voldemort, and wishes to rescue them. You were merely the first to be rescued."

"Right from under the nose of the headmaster, if my eyes weren't mistaken," Hermione added.

"I believe you're correct," Harry allowed.

"He must know something's afoot now," Hermione said. "I hope I didn't put Hestia Jones' life in danger by telling you all that stuff before the listening charm was dispelled."

"Unlikely," Harry consoled her. "He wouldn't have had a reason to monitor the charm, as Hestia should've told him you didn't know where I was, which was the truth. The odds of him casually listening in to the charm, in the hopes of hearing something was slim. Based on when he arrived, I'm speculating that he realized something was going on when the charm was dispelled, and made haste to you. It would have taken him some time to either run to the edge of the ward line at Hogwarts or floo travel to a place he could apparate from."

"What about Fawkes?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore didn't use him at the Ministry, so I figured we were safe," Harry pointed out. "Either Fawkes is near a burning day, or Dumbledore isn't quite as smart as he thinks he is."

"I'll cast my vote for the latter," Hermione said. "So what's to become of us?"

"You will be finishing your education in Avalon," Harry said. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you can apply for work with the National Health Service as dentists."

"There are dentists in Avalon?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Yep," Harry nodded. "Got to have dentists. Besides the magicals who need their teeth repaired occasionally, there are five thousand muggles on the island, and there're about to be another several thousand at least."

"How many people are there in Avalon?" Mr. Granger asked.

"About a hundred thousand," Harry told him. "Five thousand of those are muggles or squibs. Then there are about fifty thousand house elves, and five thousand high elves, and a handful of goblins."

"That's a lot of wizards and creatures to hide from the muggles," Mr. Granger observed.

"Avalon doesn't hide its magicals," Harry said. "Though not signatories to the Statues of Secrecy, we abide by it by sequestering the entire country. The non-magical population is not only aware of the magicals, they are fully integrated into society. Your lack of magic will be a hindrance in Avalon, but a minor one. You probably won't notice most of the time. As you can see from the aircraft we're riding in, Avalon is technologically advanced. Most people drive cars. Everyone has electricity. There's television and computers, and everything you're used to back in England. The only difference is that instead of petrol, diesel, or jet fuel powering the engines and turbines it's a runic cluster that creates a hydrogen-based flame."

"So cars and lorries can't run out of petrol?" Hermione asked, eager to learn.

"That's right," Harry allowed. "This aircraft could circumnavigate the globe without landing to refuel, and the only byproducts are oxygen and water."

"That's amazing," Mrs. Granger said.

"All the magic in Avalonian technology is handled with runes," Harry explained. "They're activated by pressing the accelerator, or turning a knob, or flipping a switch, and not by waving a wand. You can operate magical devices… you just can't create them."

The rest of the flight and the landing were eye-opening to the Grangers, but arriving in Camelot was more so. They were met at Camelot Airport by Charlus and Tom, both of whom were looking rather displeased.

"Bollocks," Harry said on stepping off the Dominie.

"What?" Hermione asked from right behind him.

"Well…" Harry prevaricated as they descended the steps. "See, I didn't exactly ask permission to bring you here."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, confused. "How did you get an aeroplane and soldiers to come with you if you didn't have permission?"

"That's a rather long story," Harry obfuscated. He stopped in front of his family members. "Charlus, Tom," he said more confidently than he felt. "I'd like you to meet the Grangers: Hermione and her parents, Dan and Emma. Hermione, this is my great uncle, Charlus Potter, and his son, Tom."

"A pleasure to meet you," Charlus said shaking Hermione's hand.

"I didn't think Harry had any family left, except his aunt," Hermione said bluntly. "It's nice to meet you too."

"Harry actually has quite a bit of family," Charlus informed her. "It just so happens that of those remaining besides his mother's sister, I am his closest living relative." Charlus and Tom greeted the Granger parents, and then Charlus turned to Harry. "So, would you care to explain why you took the Royal Flight to Britain?"

"Royal Flight?" Hermione whispered furiously. "You hijacked the king's aeroplane?"

"No," Harry told her. "I didn't hijack the king's aeroplane."

"It would be rather difficult to hijack his own aircraft," Tom chuckled, watching Hermione's eyes bug out. Behind her, her parents looked absolutely floored.

"I'm missing something," Mr. Granger said.

"I see Harry didn't tell you, then," Charlus commented. "My great nephew here is Harry the First, King of Avalon. Though he's been de jure king since October 31, 1981, he's been in absentia until just a few days ago, when he arrived here, and was crowned. Until his sixteenth birthday, I will continue my role as Prince Regent, at such time he will be allowed to rule without me."

"Is this an absolute monarchy?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Shall we continue this conversation in the car?" Charlus asked. "It is entirely unnecessary to remain here on the tarmac, when a perfectly good castle awaits."

"Of course," Mr. Granger acceded, staring at the car. "Is that a Rolls-Royce Phantom IV?"

"It is indeed," Charlus acknowledged. "Build in 1954 to our specifications, and modified in an Avalonian factory."

"Only eighteen of these were built!" Mr. Granger gushed.

"Actually, twenty were built," Charlus corrected. "Though we kept ours secret. To answer your question, Mrs. Granger," Charlus continued as they entered. "Avalon is a constitutional monarchy with a written constitution and a parliament that actually predates Britain's as a legislative body by several hundred years." He turned to Harry, who was facing him in the jump seat of the car. "Why didn't you tell me you were planning to bring them back?"

"You wouldn't've let me go," Harry said.

"I think you will find that I'm not Albus Dumbledore, and this is not the British Monarchy," Charlus replied. "I will not restrict your movements, or keep you in the dark. Rather, I will allow you freedom, and keep you informed so that you may make the proper decisions. While I can't fault the precautions you've taken, I would have been able to assist you. Might I assume that you wish the Grangers to reside in the Royal Apartments?"

"Oh," Harry said, deflating a bit. "Um, yeah. There's plenty of room."

"There is indeed," Charlus agreed. "I think it makes perfect sense for Miss Granger and her parents to reside with you. She can study with you and assist you as we plan for the evacuation of British muggleborns." Harry brightened considerably. "Harry, the Potter men have always been headstrong. They've always been warriors.

"Edward Potter, your great-great-great-great grandfather, commanded HMS Thunderer during the Napoleonic Wars, commanding that Avalonian ship-of-the-line in British service from 1794 until 1814, included service at the Battle of Trafalgar," Charlus instructed. "Then, in 1815, his eldest son Jacob Potter commanded the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers during the Waterloo Campaign, under the nom de guerre Alexander Hamilton (taken from an American that he highly respected). The battalion served as Second Battalion, 30th (Cambridgeshire) Regiment of Foot in British service. During that time the battalion was in the thick of it, with Jacob being wounded at the battle of Quatre Bras, and participating days later at Waterloo. Jacob led the battalion at Waterloo, but was again wounded, this time mortally.

"Potter service continued into the twentieth century," Charlus said, holding Harry's attention. "In 1914, your grandfather, then 44, commanded the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers on the Western Front in World War I. The battalion again served as part of the British Army, on this occasion under the nom de guerre Twelfth Battalion, Royal Fusiliers.

"In World War II, I served in the RAF as a Squadron Leader flying Spitfires in 1 Squadron, which was posted to Britain," Charlus finished. "We fell under the British RAF during the Battle of Britain as 609 (West Riding) Squadron. I had six confirmed kills during the war, four of them in 1940.

"You were born to lead," Charlus told him. "I know that you wanted to be 'Just Harry', but the truth is you won't be. You were born into a royal line. You were marked by prophecy. You have been a leader since 1991, even if you yourself were unaware. Embrace it."

"I have," Harry said solemnly. "I realized that a few days ago. It's why I went to get Hermione. It's why I'm planning to go back for some others."

"Who?" Charlus asked.

"Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood," Harry told him.

"What about Ron and Ginny?" Hermione asked.

"The Weasleys are being protected by Dumbledore," Harry told her. "Ron's got a huge family who would miss him, and we can't get them all out. Plus, Ron can't keep a secret to save his life. Neville and his grandmother can keep any secret we ask of them. Luna and her father are already discredited, so even if they printed it on the front page of the _Quibbler_ , no one would believe them. That said, I think if we asked them to keep it secret, they would. The four of them are outside of Dumbledore's protection. Despite the fact that they're not muggleborns or squibs, they need our help and protection simply due to their friendship with me. Besides, they're my friends, and I want to help them, just as I want to help you." Hermione smiled.

"The Lovegoods should be first," Charlus decided. "Their wards are not as strong as those about Long Hall. The Dowager Longbottom can look after herself for a little longer. Would you wait until next Sunday to depart?" he asked Harry. Harry thought for a moment.

"So long as we can begin planning the exodus of Britain's muggleborns and squibs, yes," Harry allowed. "I want to start the evacuation on the first of August, but I want my friends clear before that."

"That should be no problem," Charlus agreed.

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Hermione absolutely fell in love with Camelot Castle. She was even more excited when lessons began the next morning, though she was decidedly silent on the subject of the physical exercise they were required to do. Harry was just glad that his meals weren't taken alone anymore. In turn, Hermione and her parents were able to sit in on the morning briefings to learn what was going on back in Britain. They also learned quite a bit about Avalon as a result, with all three of them asking pointed questions about things in the briefs they didn't understand. Harry made it clear that they were to receive carte blanche when it came to information, and they became important councillors.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were accepted as dentists by the National Health Service, and were assigned to a practice close enough to the castle they didn't need to use a car. In no time, they were back in the groove. They also decided that if possible, they'd like to stay in Avalon, even after the emergency, as they felt like they could connect to their daughter better here. There was no magical world hiding from the muggle world… no choice of which world to live in. There was only one world. In pursuit of that goal, by the end of the first week, they'd talked to Charlus about managing the sale of their property and practice in Britain and transferring all funds to Avalon.

They learned that Avalon used the galleon, but had implemented paper currency and credit cards in 1971, when like Muggle Britain and Ireland, Avalon had undergone decimalization. In Avalon there were one hundred knuts to a galleon. Sickles still existed, but they were issued as a twenty knut piece, with five per galleon. Despite the difference in the value of change, the exchange rate from Avalonian Galleons to Pounds Sterling was the same as the British Galleon: with Ǥ1 worth £4.93. As they were coming to expect, there was no muggle equivalent currency in Avalon, and they were stuck banking with Gringotts Avalon, though unlike in Britain, there were multiple branches, including several in Camelot.

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When Sunday, July 7, 1996 dawned, Harry, again in the company of Lieutenant Brotheridge and his SAS operatives, flew to Exeter on the Royal Flight, and took a bus for the one hour trip to Ottery St. Catchpole. Armed with information provided by MI6 and Harry's slip of parchment with the addresses on it, they walked confidently an hour outside of town and located Thomas' Tower.

It was the work of a few moments to talk Luna and her father into moving. Xenophilius Lovegood had been exposed to pressure from the Ministry for a year, both because he refused to publish material critical of Harry, and because he had left open the possibility that Voldemort had returned. With that possibility established as fact, he was awaiting the Ministry's next salvo, and Voldemort's opening one. Luna was simply happy to have friends, and when she heard that Hermione was already there and Neville might be soon, she was eager to go.

Lieutenant Brotheridge and his men made short work of packing up Thomas' Tower, with Xeno's help, and portkeyed everyone back to the airport. Xeno was intrigued by the application of rune sets to an aircraft in such a manner as to enhance the performance of the muggle technology. By the time the plane landed at the Cambridge International Airport, he was convinced that such technology would do well in Britain.

Harry, Lieutenant Brotheridge, and one of the SAS lads made the hour and twelve minute journey to St. Ives by bus in an hour and a half, leaving the other two SAS operators behind at the plane with the Lovegoods. Harry found the hour-long walk through the Cambridgeshire countryside boring, but invigorating. Finally, they approached the closed gate of the Longbottom Estate.

Harry approached the gate and rang a small bell on the brick gatepost. Immediately after he'd rung the bell, a house elf popped onto the far side of the decorative iron gate.

"Welcome to Long Hall. How may Toppy be of service?" the elf asked.

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry replied. "This is Leftenant Brotheridge and Sergeant Jones. We'd like to meet with Madam Longbottom and Neville, if that's possible. I'm sorry we don't have an appointment."

"Toppy will relay your message," the elf said, and popped off. She was gone a little over a minute when she popped back. When she appeared, the gate started to open. "Follow Toppy, please," she said. The three of them followed the elf up the great drive to the manor. Like the gate it was red brick, but had stone mouldings and trim. At two stories, it wasn't especially tall, but it was long, perhaps five hundred meters from one end to the other. It was done in the Jacobean style, and had towers and openwork parapets. The large windows made it very open and welcoming.

They passed through the front doors into an entry panelled in oak with delicate carvings and filigree. Without stopping, Toppy ushered them into a richly appointed parlour, where they were awaited by the Dowager Longbottom and Neville.

"Good afternoon, Madam Longbottom," Harry said. "Hi Neville."

"Mr. Potter," Madam Longbottom said, rising to greet him. "I was unaware that Albus had let you out of your gilded cage. Please sit." Harry and the soldiers did so. "Who are these gentlemen?"

"They're my guards," Harry replied. "It's necessary at times like these."

"Are they Albus' men?" Madam Longbottom asked sharply.

"No," Harry replied after considering her for a moment. "They're my men. Dumbledore doesn't know I'm here. Actually, he doesn't know where I am, just that I'm not where I'm 'supposed to be'."

"That is a rather juicy bit of gossip, Mr. Potter," Madam Longbottom said. "But then, Hestia Jones did stop by last week to have a chat about the Chief Warlock, and she intimated that you might have had a change in circumstance."

"It's immaterial to what I've come to discuss with you," Harry replied with a shrug. "Though it means I can skip some of the explanation I had planned."

"And what did you come to discuss?" Madam Longbottom asked. Neville also looked interested.

"Voldemort's return is now an indisputable fact," Harry began. "I, and those close to me are now in danger, and not only from Voldemort, but also from the Ministry and the meddling of our 'friend' Dumbledore. Unfortunately, the Weasleys are too close to Dumbledore for me to help, but the rest of my friends are not. I've already managed to protect Hermione Granger and her parents, as well as Luna Lovegood and her father. Now I've come to you to offer you what I've offered them."

"What did you offer them?" Madam Longbottom asked, intrigued.

"I've offered them a place of safety until the threat of Voldemort has been eliminated," Harry replied. "I can destroy Voldemort eventually, but it will take time; time during which my friends are vulnerable. I want to protect my friends and their families, and will provide for you during that time. There's just one catch… You have to abandon your life here in Britain until such time as it's safe to return.

"You and Neville would travel with me outside the country," Harry explained. "There, he would complete his education with Hermione, Luna, and myself. You could live in luxurious comfort in a castle, and act as a valued advisor to me in my fight."

"Longbottoms don't run," Madam Longbottom said firmly.

"Who said anything about running?" Harry asked. "As Leftenant Brotheridge here would say, I'm securing my flanks, before counter-attacking. I've been given an opportunity to limit the number of casualties in this war, and ensure that only those responsible make the list. I plan to take that opportunity.

"While you would disappear from Britain, you would still be reachable by owl," Harry said. "I can allow your house elves the ability to pop to you, but no wizard would be able to reach you. You can still manage your affairs here by proxy. Think about your safety, and Neville's. Will you be safe when you go to the Ministry or Diagon Alley? Will Neville be safe at school this year? It may be true in a few years, but the answer to both those questions now is a resounding no. And people like Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge have let it happen. You owe them nothing! The only people you owe anything to is your family: to Neville and his parents."

"Would they come as well?" Madam Longbottom asked.

"Absolutely," Harry replied quickly. "There's top notch medical care where we're going, assuming you'll come. We can pick them up on our way."

"You want us to leave now?" Madam Longbottom asked.

"It would be safer," Harry commented, nodding. "I've an aircraft standing by to take us. The Grangers and Lovegoods packed up all their possessions, but since you live under what I can only imagine are impressive wards, I'd suggest you pack only what you'll need to live for a year, or don't want to have your house elf bring you. Leftenant Brotheridge and Sergeant Jones can assist you."

"That won't be necessary," Madam Longbottom said. "Toppy can pack our things and bring them to us. Toppy!" Toppy popped into the room.

"Madam?" Toppy asked.

"Neville and I will be travelling abroad for a while, probably a year or more," Madam Longbottom instructed. "You will pack some appropriate things and bring them to us when I call."

"Where will Madam be going?" Toppy asked.

"A temperate climate, not unlike southern Britain," Harry interjected. "It is currently summer there." Toppy nodded.

"Toppy will do as asked," she said, and popped away.

"Alright, Mr. Potter," Madam Longbottom said. "Lead on."

"Is your floo connected to the network?" Harry asked.

"It is," Madam Longbottom acknowledged.

"OK," Harry said. "Let's floo to St. Mungo's, get Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, and we can portkey from there." The five of them paraded to the fireplace in the entry hall, and one by one, flooed to the reception hall of St. Mungo's Hospital. Harry and the soldiers waited in the lobby while Madam Longbottom signed her son and daughter-in-law out of the Janus Thickey Ward. The trio watched people come and go. Injured magicals, visitors, and employees came and went. Harry didn't see anyone he knew, but he saw that several people recognized him. One man actually came up for an autograph. Lieutenant Brotheridge shooed him away.

The Longbottoms were back in half an hour. Lieutenant Brotheridge made two portkeys. Sergeant Jones took Neville's parents and portkeyed away first. Then Lieutenant Brotheridge held out his bit of rope and Harry, Neville, and his gran all grabbed hold. Moments later, they were gone. Not five minutes later, a harried Albus Dumbledore flooed into the lobby and looked around. The reception witch told him that Harry had just left. Sighing, Dumbledore flooed away.

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Harry stood the next day, staring out over the Parliament Hall from the dais. His plan was shaping up. He had secured the backing of his regent, and his regent had secured the backing of the Prime Minister. He had already begun purchasing property on the northern edge of Camelot, the western edge of Port Arthur, and the southern edge of Pen Rhionydd. To continue further required something… not an act, but at least the consent of Parliament. He had to convince these hundred people that his idea was sound.

"Thank you, Madam Speaker," Harry said, beginning his prepared remarked. He looked up, the chamber was full. All hundred MPs were in attendance for the king's address, and the gallery was packed. He was able to pick out the Grangers, the Longbottoms, and the Lovegoods from the crowd. "I come before you now, hat in hand. A great conflict looms across the sea in Britain, born of elitism and the concept that someone is somehow less deserving of magic if they are born to parents without it.

"These concepts are alien to us," Harry observed. "To you and to me, it matters not a whit if someone is magical, muggle, squib, elf, or goblin. Here all sentient beings are of equal worth, and equal value. It is one of the things I love most about Avalon.

"Avalon's defences are unmatched," Harry said, switching tack. "We here are invulnerable behind mighty wards. An Army, a Navy, and an Air Force stand ready to sweep the enemy from our shores should they somehow land. We are safe. Our institutions are safe. Our livelihood is safe.

"But in Britain today," he continued, drawing confidence from the presence of his friends, "there are people who are not safe. They are victims, unable to fight back without violating the laws of their nation which are upheld in spite of the shifting circumstance. I speak of the muggleborns, the squibs, and their families, magical and muggle alike.

"Imagine for a moment, being targeted because of something you cannot change," Harry urged. "Imagine being hated for your parents, or your race, or your gender. Then imagine that not only are you hated, you're shunned; unable to get a decent job, or serve in government. But imagine beyond that… Imagine being accused of a crime… the crime of being an elf, or being a woman… Imagine being imprisoned for that. Imagine being hunted for that. Imagine being killed for that.

"The muggleborns in Britain today face such a challenge," Harry informed them. "They stand liable to be attacked in the streets, in their places of business, even in their homes. By association, their families are in danger too. Their magical children, termed half-bloods by the blood purists, are in danger. Muggle children, born of squibs are in danger. Muggle parents and siblings, living in unwarded homes on muggle streets are in perhaps the most danger of all.

"Every day I see reports of new attacks," Harry said. "Of new atrocities that terrorists commit against these people. There are murders, kidnappings, and torture. It is a humanitarian crisis of unprecedented size in Magical Britain. The Magical British government is powerless to help, being infiltrated by terrorists and terrorist sympathizers. The vigilantes sworn to stop the terrorists are likewise powerless, refusing to use the force necessary to do so. Trapped in the middle are the innocent, and it is they who suffer.

"Avalon has long held that it does not involve itself in the internal affairs of Britain," Harry said. "We did not assist during the Glorious Revolution, nor the American Revolution, nor the Boer War… But I have studied our history, and that of Britain, and have come to two conclusions that have bearing.

"First," he listed, "Magical Britain and the United Kingdom are two separate countries occupying the same space, relieving us of the self-imposed restriction against assisting the United Kingdom in internal conflict. Magical Britain actually occupies the space of two muggle countries, the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland. The fact that Magical Britain completely ignores the government of the Republic of Ireland has no bearing on the fact that there are two legitimate muggle governments. In contrast, Avalon has but one government. Therefore, we must recognize that Magical Britain and the United Kingdom are in fact two legitimate nations. When the magical terrorists attack and murder the muggle parents of muggleborns, or the muggle children of squibs, they are in fact, committing an act of aggression against the United Kingdom, and not Magical Britain.

"Second," he continued, "as human beings with knowledge of the problem and the capacity to help, we have a moral duty to act. Innocent people are being attacked for reasons beyond their control. They have little or no mechanisms for self-defence, and only token recourse before the law. Therefore we must act. I believe that even if this august body does not accept my first point as true, they cannot refute the second.

"I propose to invite the muggleborn and squibs of Britain, and their families to settle in Avalon," Harry revealed. "By giving the victims a safe place to retreat to we limit our involvement, act mercifully, and enhance our own country with new money and new ideas.

"I propose to fly the victims of British elitism here to Avalon using the transport capacity of the RAF over the course of a few days," Harry clarified. "The victims have already been identified. They and their families number fewer than seven thousand. I plan to house them at my own expense in existing vacant homes and in new neighbourhoods built in Camelot, Port Arthur, and Pen Rhionydd. I will work with businesses to provide them jobs, and government agencies to provide them services.

"It is my fervent hope that these expatriate settlers will find a new Eden here in Avalon, and wish to stay," Harry said. "I hope that they will never again suffer for an accident of their birth. I hope that we can give them what Britain can't or won't. I hope that we can save their lives for their children, and their children's children, and on into eternity.

"Therefore, I humbly request that Parliament consent to the proposal I have laid before you today," Harry concluded. "Thank you for your consideration."

The silence that followed was immediately filled with riotous applause. It had worked. Consent was granted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Britain in Flames**

The new arrivals fit in very well. Madam Longbottom struck up an immediate friendship with Charlus, whom she'd known decades ago, and thought dead. Xeno spent his days wandering about Camelot, studying everything as though he were an anthropologist deep in the Amazon. Neville and Luna immediately began their studies with Harry and Hermione, and by the end of the month were caught up.

Harry's birthday fell on a Wednesday that year. The castle had celebrated Neville's birthday the night before once classes had ended, but Wednesday was to be a true holiday, with no class scheduled. Harry had quite a bit to attend to, since he'd officially become the ruling monarch of Avalon.

Harry woke at the usual time, but instead of heading downstairs to run, he showered and dressed in a casual suit. He was the first one to breakfast, but the Grangers and Longbottoms arrived soon after. Luna arrived last, and explained that her father had already left. That wasn't unusual, as Xeno liked to grab breakfast at a nearby café he'd come to enjoy.

The usual breakfast briefing commenced. Usually, foreign intelligence was discussed first, but this morning Tom went through the domestic brief first. Then he started covering the foreign material, again, saving Britain for last.

"We've finished compiling the figures," Tom finally said, beginning with Britain. "There are two thousand seventy-eight British muggleborns… Well, seventy-seven. One's already here. With their families: that's parents, siblings under eighteen, spouses, children, and other descendants—there are six thousand five hundred twenty-one who qualify for transport. Four don't qualify for transport, as they're housed at Her Majesty's pleasure or were recently paroled. There are additionally, forty-one squibs. Squibs and their families add an additional one hundred thirteen to the list, bringing the total number of magicals qualifying for evacuation under your directive to six thousand six hundred thirty-four. Three of those qualifying are already at this table." Tom glanced at the Grangers and smiled. Then he laid a piece of paper on the table.

"This is the order you need to sign to authorize the evacuation," Tom said. Then he laid another paper on the table. "This is the order you need to sign calling 5 and 6 Wings of the RAF and the SAS Regiment to active duty, and assigning them to the transportation of evacuees. These orders will go into effect tonight. MI6 and SAS operatives will begin visiting the homes of muggleborns and squibs tomorrow morning, and the airlift will begin by noon."

"How long to complete the evacuation?" Harry asked.

"Two days," Tom replied. "Perhaps three. The people who visit the families will also be able to pack their property and portkey them to the airport. The Globemasters will be flying in American colours with the approval of the Americans, and operating out of RAF Mildenhall in Cambridgeshire. The Hercules' will be flying in British colours and operating out of RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire and Casement Aerodrome in Ireland. The Dominies will be flying in British colours as well, operating out of RAF Leuchars in Scotland. The evacuees will be portkeyed to the nearest port of embarkation and when a flight is full, it will depart. Evacuees will be brought to RAF Camelot, where they will be processed."

"What happens then?" Luna asked. "They can't all live in the castle with us." She apparently hadn't been paying attention during Harry's speech, or had forgotten.

"We've a file on each evacuee, detailing their education level, work history, and other key information," Tom replied. "We'll be sorting them out at RAF Camelot, and then we'll be taking the new arrivals by bus to their new lodgings. The Royal Office has arranged rentals or rentals-to-own for the new arrivals in Camelot, Port Arthur, and Pen Rhionydd. There are at least ten who are farmers, and we've secured farms for them. The housing market in Avalon has gotten extremely tight. Harry has also initiated construction for three new neighbourhoods, totalling approximately four thousand homes and apartments. Eventually, we hope to integrate these people into society, and some will be immediately, but the rest will take time, perhaps generations."

"Were you able to secure jobs for these people?" Madam Longbottom asked.

"We've a job placement service here," Tom explained. "Representatives will be on hand at RAF Camelot when they arrive. Most chain businesses have agreed to open shops in the new neighbourhoods, so those will need to be staffed, and we'll be able to help facilitate that. Over the next week, new bus and trolley schedules will be published, announcing new routes in the new neighbourhoods to help them get around, since they'll have to leave their cars in Britain. There's even a temporary service to help them sell their homes and other property they'll have to leave behind in Britain."

"That sounds nice," Mrs. Granger commented.

"It's actually a very good deal," Tom said. "For example: the farmers, they sign their farm and farming equipment over to us, and we provide them with a farm of equal size here in Avalon, with new farming equipment. We then sell the farm in Britain and their used farming equipment, and keep the profits to offset the cost of the equipment we provided for them. I believe that we're even transporting livestock here after we've cured outstanding medical conditions."

"It sounds like you've thought of everything," Mr. Granger said. "Is Harry paying for this, or is Avalon?"

"Avalon is covering the cost of the transportation itself, through the defence budget," Tom replied. The homes were purchased through the Potter account, like we'd discussed. The new construction was authorized by the city councils, and funded jointly by Harry and the councils, though mostly Harry. Harry can expect to recoup about three quarters of the monies through the resale scheme in Britain. In some cases, the evacuees will be coming from areas with a fairly high land value, and Harry was able to buy primarily undeveloped land at a quite low cost. The government assistance services are being provided at government expense."

"Is that all?" Harry asked. "Because you said I needed to be in Parliament at nine for the transfer of authority."

"Right you are, Harry," Tom finished. "Best be off."

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Albus Dumbledore was having a terrible day. The last month had been bad, indeed, the entire summer had been excruciatingly frustrating, but only now was the full extent of just how bad it had been coming to light. He sat there brooding.

It had started with Harry Potter's non-arrival on Platform 9¾ at the end of June, and just kept growing from there. First, Hermione Granger and her family had disappeared with Harry Potter and some other men. Then, the Longbottoms disappeared. Next, the Quibbler stopped publishing, and when he'd visited Thomas' Tower, he found the Lovegoods gone as well. Next, he began getting reports that people had failed to show up to work: almost always muggleborns, but a few half-bloods, and even a pure-blood. Efforts to track down their families had also failed. Before the first of September the tally had included Dirk Cress well of the Goblin Liaison Office, Nymphadora Tonks of the Auror Corps (and a member of the Order), and Donaghan Tremlett of the Weird Sisters.

The story was always the same. Near the beginning of August, the family had moved and sold their home, usually in that order. When the homes were visited, they were empty except for a car in the garage. Sometimes even the extended families of the muggleborns were gone. Usually, he was told that they'd moved to America, Australia, Canada, or New Zealand due to a job offer.

The real kicker was when Mundungus Fletcher had stopped by Arabella Figg's house, after checking in on the Dursleys, only to find it empty. Arabella had vanished into thin air. This caused Albus to contact some of the other squibs he knew, only to find them gone too.

Albus was nothing if not the consummate politician, however. He knew, or rather, he suspected that Harry Potter was behind these disappearances, or at least, linked to them, but had no idea how or why. He refused to believe that they were the work of Voldemort. This didn't prevent him from excoriating Voldemort for their disappearance at every opportunity from the pulpit of the Chief Warlock's seat. Though he didn't know it, he was at least half right.

Behind the scenes, Albus was in a quandary. Things were more serious than the public imagined. Where Voldemort suckered the pure-bloods into fighting for him, Albus did the same with the muggleborns. Muggleborns were uninitiated in the ways of the wizarding world, and generally a gullible sort he could rely on to help him fight his battles. They also hated the cloistered and favour-driven government of Magical Britain, which Albus exploited to turn them to his cause.

Voldemort was too narrow in his view. He wanted power, and had realized that the fastest way to power was to convince the pure-bloods to promote him while using the dark arts to increase his magical abilities. He failed to realize, as did most of the pure-bloods, that left alone, the muggleborns would account for about twenty percent of Magical Britain's population, and most of the working class.

While pure-bloods were wealthier, the government taxed income—and almost exclusively earned income, with only small taxes on interest income—not wealth. Though they comprised about fifteen percent of the population (thanks to casualties from the last war with Voldemort), muggleborns made up almost thirty percent of the tax base. While pure-bloods ran the government, the muggleborns paid for it.

Plus, without muggleborns, the economy of wizarding Britain would grind to a halt. The only reason it hadn't so far was a combination of retail shops expending built-up stores of merchandise and a slow summer shopping season, since many pure-bloods were on vacation abroad. Italy, France, and Spain were popular destinations.

Though the disappearances had made the news, most magicals hadn't put the whole picture together yet. Employers cared only about their own employees. Newspapers cared only about famous people. Albus did the maths in his head… Around two thousand muggleborns would be gone. He had no idea what to do, but he'd be expected to. The Chief Warlock's seat, his army of the light, and the fate of Britain itself hung in the balance.

To rub salt in the wounds, the Order's search of the Atlantic islands had turned up nothing. An owl sent from Ron Weasley had returned two weeks later with a reply that Harry was fine and enjoying his summer, but didn't divulge any further details. Any owl sent after any missing person lost its tracking charm over the Atlantic Ocean. The owl usually returned much later with assurances the person was fine and reiterated whatever coverstory they'd given to friends and neighbours. Albus had managed to track the owls at least part of the way, but the flight paths varied by as much as sixty miles when the charms failed, making it hard to estimate their final location. None of them were in Australia or Canada, of that Albus was certain.

Albus had anticipated Harry's return for the 1996-1997 school year, when he'd get the chance to set the boy straight. He knew Harry had to sacrifice himself in order to for Voldemort to die. Albus knew all about the horcruxes. He knew that Harry had already destroyed one of them: the diary.

But then, just a week ago, his plans had changed drastically. Albus had located and destroyed Voldemort's ring horcrux, although not before he'd put the blasted thing on thanks to a compulsion charm he really should've suspected could be there. Now he was fighting for just a few more months against a withering curse. Now he needed to tell Harry everything. Harry needed to know about the other horcruxes so that he could destroy them. He needed to know that he should look to Ginny as a spouse, and soon, so that a light pureblood could guide the Potter seats on the Wizengamot and work to reform the government into the oligarchy he'd long sought, even if he would no longer sit on it. He needed to be guided to sacrificing himself for the good of Magical Britain.

Then, Harry hadn't shown up. He wasn't on Platform 9¾, he wasn't on the Hogwarts Express, he wasn't in the carriages, and he wasn't in the castle. Not only that, Hermione Granger, Megan Jones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Tracey Davis, the Creevey brothers, and one hundred six other students and prospective students, mostly from the burgeoning lower years, had not come to Hogwarts. Those muggleborns were obviously part of the disappearances, but the half-bloods? On first glance there appeared to be no pattern to the missing half-bloods, as they came from all houses and years. Then he realized that those missing were the children of muggleborns. How could Harry have know enough to know who was who? Each answer brought only more questions.

As he sat there, looking out over the Sorting Feast, some things that had seemed disconnected, fell into place. Earlier in the summer, around the same time the muggleborns began disappearing, notice had been posted in the paper that the Lord Black had dissolved the marriages of Rodolfus and Bellatrix LeStrange, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for contract violations. Another notice had explained that Andromeda Tonks had been welcomed back into the Black Family. Then she and Nymphadora had disappeared.

Harry had become Lord Black, Albus realized. He'd seen the will. Albus wracked his brain, trying to remember hearing Sirius regaling Harry with stories over the summer at Grimmauld Place. He finally recalled Sirius telling Harry about the other Black Family properties. There was an island in the Bahamas, a fairly large island with a plantation on it. Albus reasoned that perhaps Harry had somehow gotten to the island, done some research, and convinced the muggleborns, squibs, and their families it was safer there.

There were five horcruxes left to go. The muggleborns had to be recovered. An army had to be built. Harry had to be married. Voldemort had to be defeated. Britain had to be returned to prosperity, and its government reformed. Preferably this would all be accomplished before he died, somewhere around next May, if Severus was to be believed.

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September first was a Sunday. The sun was shining and Harry was touring one of the new neighbourhoods with Hermione, Neville, and Luna. The four of them would be continuing instruction privately, but the rest of the new arrivals would be attending class at schools, starting the next day. A new school had been established in what was now called the Little Britain neighbourhood of Camelot. Harry disliked the name, as it suggested that the immigrants were somehow different than the Avalonians, which wasn't strictly true. Sure, the British magicals would require additional schooling to catch up to where Avalonians were at, but the British squibs and muggles were generally on par with their Avalonian counterparts.

Harry looked at the school. It was done in a classical Gothic architecture, but was modern on the inside. All British magical expats of school age would attend this school. British muggle and squib expats would attend whichever school was closer, as their instruction omitted the magical classes. Instead, they took magic awareness classes that informed them of various types of magic, how to use rune-based magical technology, and how to protect themselves from some types of magic.

"Oh my God, when did you lot get here?" a voice asked behind them. Harry turned to see Justin Finch-Fletchley and Tracey Davis walking towards them.

"I got here on June 30," Hermione said.

"Luna and I came on July 7," Neville added.

"Do you live nearby?" Harry asked to deflect more questions. Apparently, no one had told the children who the king was, and Harry wasn't about to enlighten them.

"I'm just 'round the corner," Tracey said. "Can you believe this place? They built it just for us!"

"I'm a few blocks over," Justin added. "We've a semi-detached house."

"I'm in a terrace," Tracey explained. "But it's still quite nice."

"And what about that school, eh?" Justin said pointing. "We've already gotten our letters. They've doubled the number of subjects!"

"But you should already know some," Hermione countered. "You learned about maths and science in primary school."

"True, but it's been a while," Justin said, shrugging.

"Hey, you haven't seen Daphne Greengrass, have you?" Tracey asked, filling a lull in the conversation.

"No," Harry replied. "She's not here. I think you're the only Slytherin near our ages that is."

"I don't care a whit about the rest of my house," Tracey rebutted. "Daphne was the only one worth anything."

"Most of the blokes in my house were alright," Justin said. "A few of them are here, and we've gotten together some."

"Where're you lot staying, then?" Tracey asked.

"Oh, we're put up in, erm, temporary housing," Hermione prevaricated. "It's near the city centre."

"Oh, you're some of the unlucky ones, then," Justin observed.

"Why?" Neville asked.

"Well, you're not with the rest of us, are you?" Justin said. "I mean, I heard some of the evacuees got stuck in empty houses around town. Kevin Whitby lives a few blocks from the high street, and I went down there once to visit. He doesn't know anyone there."

"What about the evacuees in the other cities?" Tracey asked. "I mean, I think they've got it almost as bad. Sure most of 'em are with other evacuees, but there aren't nearly as many of them. There's three thousand of us here, near about. Only two in Port Arthur, and one in Pen… Oh, bollocks, I can never remember the name of the other city."

"Pen Rhionydd?" Hermione supplied.

"Yes!" Tracy nearly shouted. "That. There's only a thousand evacuees there."

Harry was a bit sad at the attitudes of his former classmates. He'd hoped the people would feel welcomed, and their reactions were exactly why he hadn't wanted to segregate people. He'd hoped they'd integrate into society, making the whole stronger than its parts. He had his work cut out for him.

"So," Harry said. "Where're you off to?"

"Sightseeing," Justin said. "It's our last day of freedom, and all. Thought we'd spend it exploring. You lot know anything good to do around here?"

"You could see a film," Hermione offered. "Or, Camelot has Avalon's live theatre, symphony, and opera hall, though those won't be playing until after supper."

"I think Camelot's playing Corbenic in Quidditch over at the National Pitch," Harry said. "Or you go to Gawain's Green and catch Camelot Lancers take on the Astolat Warriors in Rugby. I think Camelot FC is on the road this week in Otterthorpe."

"Sounds like you've already got this place figured out," Justin observed.

"Well, he has to," Luna replied airily, entering the conversation. "He's the king." Harry mentally facepalmed. He'd hoped to be just Harry to the evacuees. Apparently, that was not to be.

"Ha!" Tracey laughed. "Go on, pull the other one then!"

"I wasn't joking," Luna said. "Harry's King of Avalon., but he only just found out. Galleons with his face on them are due to start coming out in October."

"You're bloody serious?" Justin said.

"I suppose the cat's out of the bag," Harry sighed. "Yeah, I'm the king."

"He was crowned and everything," Neville gushed. "You should go to the castle and see the crown jewels. Excalibur's there!"

"Bloody hell, Harry, is your life ever not exciting?" Tracey asked. "I mean, I never got the full details, but we heard enough down in the dungeons to know things were happening with you just about all the time."

"I'd like to think this is the last big shock of my life, but I'm sure I'll be disappointed," Harry deadpanned.

"So what're you doing out here?" Justin asked.

"Inspecting the neighbourhood," Harry explained. "I wanted to make sure everyone was settling in OK. Initially, I'd tried buying up existing vacant homes and flats, but there weren't nearly enough. We ended up needing space for an additional four thousand people, so we built three neighbourhoods. This whole thing's a bit of a balancing act. I don't want to be seen as giving you lot any special favours, but I also don't want the neighbourhoods turning into a ghetto. I want the evacuees to integrate into the population. I want you to feel at home here. I realise that some, maybe most, of you will go back, but I hope at least a few of you settle here once the war's over."

"But we're all going to the same school," Justin observed.

"Most of you will, for a few years at least," Harry agreed. "Those who are just starting their education will go to other schools. Muggle family members will too. You lot will be in an accelerated course, learning basics quickly until you're caught up, then some of the evacuees will be transferred as well, especially from the younger forms. You'll probably separated out for the next two years, but if you elect to go to uni, you'll be on a normal track with everyone else."

"We'll be here for two years?" Tracey nearly shrieked.

"Well, you'll be here until Voldemort is destroyed, and I don't plan on stepping in to the fight in Britain until he seizes power," Harry elaborated. "That could be tomorrow, or it could be in a year, or it could be never. If he's defeated by someone else, you can go back then. Heck, you can go back now, but it won't be safe. Tracey, I know we weren't exactly friends at Hogwarts, but I hope you never move back. I hope you're here in twenty years. I don't care you were in Slytherin, just like I don't care that Justin was a Hufflepuff."

"You're an odd duck, you know that?" Tracey said, amazed. "If we live here forever, can I still go visit Daphne?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "We have an airline. You can fly back to Britain and visit. We just ask that you tell people you were somewhere else. We'll actually make you swear a magical oath."

"You already did," Justin informed him. "We had to agree when we were told we were coming, and everyone over eleven did it when we arrived."

"Well, there you go," Harry said. There was a lull in the conversation. Finally, Tracey spoke up.

"Fancy seeing Excalibur?" she asked Justin.

"Sure," Justin replied. "Will we see you around?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "We'll be back." The teens bid each other farewell, and went about their days.

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"We have a disturbing development," Charlus said the next morning. "Last night in an Order meeting, Albus revealed that Voldemort used certain artefacts to create soul anchors call horcruxes to bind him to Earth. Apparently, until they're destroyed, he won't know death as we do. He can be reborn as he was after the Triwizard Tournament."

"What do we know about them?" Harry asked.

"Horcruxes are an object that is used to store a bit of a person's soul," Charlus explained. "The ritual to create them involves murdering an innocent. At that point, the murderer's soul breaks, and a piece is directed into the horcrux. When a horcrux is destroyed, the soul piece returns to the murderer. Albus believes that Voldemort made seven horcruxes. He also revealed that two have been destroyed."

"The diary," Harry guessed.

"Yes," Charlus allowed. "And also a ring, which Albus destroyed this summer. He suspects that there are five more horcruxes. He has guessed what they are, but does not know where they are."

"What are they?" Hermione asked.

"The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," Charlus began, "the locket of Salazar Slytherin, and the cup of Helga Hufflepuff are near certainties. Those less certain are you and an unknown seventh horcrux."

"Me?" Harry cried.

"Yes," Charlus said. "Albus believes that your mother's death shattered Voldemort's soul, and his rebounding curse drove a piece of his soul into your scar."

"That… actually makes sense," Harry said. "If a bit of his soul were in my head, it would explain why I can see what he's doing sometimes." He thought quietly for a minute. "If that's the case, then I think Nagini, his snake, is the seventh horcrux. I've been able to see what she sees several times. The only explanation for that is that Voldemort sees what Nagini sees, and I see what he sees."

"That's a good theory," Charlus said.

"So how do we get rid of these things?" Harry asked.

"Fiendfyre or basilisk venom are the only known things which can destroy a horcrux," Charlus stated.

"Well, no offence, but I don't want to give a basilisk a crack at my scar," Harry countered.

"Of course not," Charlus snorted. "We do have a Research Department in the Ministry of Education, along with a massive library and a score of University Professors who can help resolve this problem. We can put them on it immediately."

"Yes!" Harry shouted desperately. "Now what about tracking down the horcruxes in Britain? Voldemort gave Lucius Malfoy the diary. Perhaps he gave other horcruxes to other Death Eaters?"

"It's worth a try," Charlus agreed. "MI6 specializes in gathering intelligence. I suggest we let them loose on the problem, and see what they come up with."

"Do it," Harry ordered."

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Things plodded along for quite some time after that. Harry and his three classmates at the castle continued their accelerated schedule, both catching up where needed, and sprinting ahead at their own pace. Hermione hoped to be able to sit the A-levels by the middle of the next school year, despite starting out behind.

Samhain, one of the four bank holidays in Avalon, had passed at the end of October with nary a peep. Harry missed playing quidditch for Gryffindor, but that was about it. He found with Ron absent, he studied harder, and learned more.

By the time the first snow fell near the end of November, the first real news arrived from Britain. MI6 operatives there discovered that Hufflepuff's cup had been given to Bellatrix LeStrange, currently in Azkaban. The kicker was, a review of her banking history, courtesy of Gringotts, revealed that she'd placed the cup in her vault. Adding to the farce, the contents of that vault had been awarded to Harry in the guise of Lord Black following the dissolution of her marriage to Rodolphus LeStrange and the reclamation of her dowry. Harry had given permission for the Goblins to retrieve the artefact from his vaults without delay. The cup had then been turned over to the Research Department of the Ministry of Education for study.

By Yule, on December twenty-first, Harry had toured each of the four counties. He'd been to every city and quite a few towns. He'd attended a quidditch match, rugby match, and football match. He'd met with the senior elf MP to discuss elven issues. He'd met with the only house elf MP to learn his views. He'd given a speech on the telly to discuss the evacuees. He'd observed soldiers in basic training and cruised on HMS Twe as it patrolled the coast. He'd taken part in several ceremonies, which he usually found exhausting.

Surprisingly, he found he enjoyed the job, overall. He couldn't bring himself to be pompous, and he felt uncomfortable as the centre of attention, but he enjoyed helping people. He liked solving people's problems. Starting in November, he instituted a new tradition. One Sunday a month, he would go to a different location and hold court. People could attend, and have the opportunity to talk to him.

The first court on the second weekend in November had been a rousing success. It had been in Otterthorpe, and he'd talked to perhaps a hundred people over the course of the day. Some had come to him with problems. After hearing their plea, he'd have Hermione make note of who they were and what their problem was. Then, he'd use the next few weeks to see if he could work out a solution and have someone get back to them. Other people just wanted to say hello, or wanted to present him with a gift. Some came to him with opinions, suggestions, and questions. He tried to give people an opportunity to say their piece.

The second court, in Port Arthur the first weekend in December, was much bigger. Harry saw upwards of two hundred people that day. It started when he arrived at eight am. He ate lunch while talking to an evacuee family who had a question for him. He ate dinner with a Liberal MP from Port Arthur who wanted to talk about a bill she was planning to submit. People kept filing through the high school classroom he was using as a meeting room until about nine pm. When he left, he and Hermione were each carrying bags of food and other gifts that people had given him.

Harry threw a small gala at the castle on Yule eve. In attendance were the extended Potter clan, the Grangers, the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, the Davises, the Finch-Fletchleys, the Tonkses, the Joneses, the Prime Minister and his wife, and the nobles of the realm and their immediate families.

"How're you finding things, Your Majesty?" Megan Jones asked, when she finally collared Harry. She hadn't had a chance to talk to him since June.

"First, none of that 'Majesty' crap," Harry admonished. "'Sir' me if you must, but I'd prefer it if my friends just called me Harry. To answer your question, my life is so vastly different now, that there can be no comparison. It's almost surreal."

"I'm sorry," Megan said, chastised. "I didn't dare presume you considered me a friend."

"You're here, aren't you?" Harry asked. "Aside from the nobles, only friends are here tonight." He sipped his spiced cider. The air was heavy with the smells of a winter party: gingerbread, pine, cinnamon, and wood smoke. He looked out the window. It was dark outside and the interior lights sparkled off the nearest snowflakes as they fell past the glass. He smiled. "I think I'm happier now that I've ever remembered being. Thank you for making that possible."

"I just did what I was asked," Megan shrugged.

"Still," Harry countered. "You did it, and I benefited. I'm in your debt."

"You look relaxed," Hermione said coming up and grabbing his arm. Harry had noticed she did that more frequently the last few months. He didn't mind.

"I was just telling Megan how happy I am now that I'm here," Harry told her.

"I'm pretty happy too," Hermione said. "Avalon is great. It's the perfect hybrid of the magical and mundane worlds. I can be myself. There's no restrictions on underage magic. I can show my parents what I'm learning in school, and I get to see them every day! I love it here."

"I'm so happy for you," Megan said. "I like it here too. Britain was always so depressing with its blood status and statutes of secrecy rules."

"What do you want to do when you're done school?" Hermione asked. "I want to go to uni, probably to read law."

"I don't know," Megan said. "MI6 practically promised me a job when I'm out. I'm already a 'person' in Britain, so they don't have to make up a story for me, which they like. My sister works for them, of course, but I don't know. I think I want to do something else. Maybe if I go to uni too, it'll help straighten my head out a bit. How's the hunt for the horcruxes going?"

"Are you read in on that?" Harry ask, surprised.

"Technically, I'm a 'Britain' operative, so yes," Megan replied. "Even though I'm not in the field at the moment, they try to keep me up to date on what's going on over there."

"Well, the researchers with the MoE are close to developing a detector," Harry explained. "They tried to make one that can pinpoint everywhere, instead, they've decided to make two. One does area sweeps and can shrink the location down to a few kilometres. The other is more precise, and is used once you're closer to the target. It won't detect them when it's more than a few hundred metres away, but it will tell you when you're right on top of it, where the wide-ranging one won't. They're hoping to have the designs ready after the New Year."

"And what about getting the one in you out?" Megan asked.

"The researchers are studying that too," Harry said. "I've been in to see them a few times, and they've scanned me magically and with machines. They've done some other tests too."

"That's rather sad news for you," Megan commented. "I mean, I'm sure you'd rather have it out as soon as you can."

"That's the truth," Harry agreed. They went silent as Tracey came over with Justin.

"Hiya Harry," Tracey said. "Hey, thanks for coming to my quidditch game last month." Harry and the 'castle club', as they'd taken to referring to themselves, had taken a field trip the third Sunday in November to watch Tracey play quidditch. Though she hadn't been allowed on the Slytherin team due to both her gender and her blood status, she was actually quite accomplished as a chaser. She'd found her way onto one of the amateur junior league teams, and they would've won except the other seeker got the snitch, snatching their victory out from under them just before Tracey could make the tying goal.

"It was our pleasure, Tracey," Harry replied. "I need to get out more, and see the country. I quite enjoyed your game. You could go pro."

"That'd be a trick wouldn't it?" Justin asked. "Tracey playing for Holyhead against Warrington and Montague and trouncing them?"

"That would be good," Harry agreed. "When's your next game?"

"January fifth," Tracey replied.

"Sounds like we've got plans for the first Sunday in January then," Harry observed with a grin. "Who're you playing?"

"The Southside Strikers," Tracey shrugged. "Whoever they are."

"Never heard of them," Harry admitted.

"They're the local team for the Southside neighbourhood of Camelot," Frank Potter said, entering the conversation.

"Everyone, this is my second cousin, Frank Potter," Harry said by way of introduction. "He's seventeen, and about to graduate from Lyonesse…"

"Lyonesse-Exeter School," Frank said.

"Apparently it's the most prestigious school in the country," Harry reported.

"They have private schools here?" Tracey asked, confused.

"No," Frank replied. "Lyonesse-Exeter was established as a private academy by the Earl of Lyonesse and the Count of Exeter about six hundred years ago, but when the schools were nationalized in the nineteenth century, it joined too. Most of the schools in the country accept students based on region, meaning those who live nearby. The only two, well… three now, exceptions to that are Highgrove in Port Arthur, Lyonesse-Exeter here in Camelot, and the new British School I suspect some of you attend."

"I do," Justin admitted. "I know the British School is for us expats to catch up. How do you get into the other two?"

"Highgrove and Lyonesse-Exeter admit students based on academic performance," Frank revealed. "Highgrove focuses more on maths and science, while Lyonesse-Exeter is better with government and business."

"So Highgrove is the school for future engineers, while Lyonesse-Exeter is for businessmen and politicians?" Justin asked.

"Spot on," Frank grinned.

"Which are you hoping to be?" Tracey asked.

"I'll follow my father in the family business: government," Frank shrugged. "It's what we Potters do."

"Are you going to uni?" Hermione asked.

"The Royal Military Academy," Frank said, nodding. "There's a second leftenant's spot in the Royal Horse Guards with my name on it."

"That's scary," Tracey said.

"Nah," Frank shrugged it off. "It's a reserve slot. I'll do my one weekend a month and get a job here at the castle. Dad's done it for years. He's the brigadier commanding the Guards Brigade."

"I should pay more attention," Harry muttered. Frank chuckled.

"You've got enough on your plate," he said. "Don't get me wrong, you'll go through the Royal Military Academy same as me, but you'll do it at an accelerated pace, and you'll take more classes through the Royal University to give you a 'well rounded education'. It's how all monarchs have done it… Well, not your dad, but that was a sort of special case."

"How so?" Harry asked, interested.

"Dad says his uni was deferred until the end of the Voldemort War," Frank said. "But Great Uncle Fleamont, it's what he did, and King Henry the second, too."

"I guess that's what's up for me, then," Harry said.

"Hey, erm… Frank," Tracey said. "You said your school was founded by an earl and a count."

"Yes," Frank acknowledged.

"Aren't they the same thing?" she asked, confused.

"Not here," Frank replied. "In Britain the rank between Viscount and Marquis is styled Earl. In France that same rank is styled Count. Prior to about one thousand AD, neither viscount nor marquis existed as a noble rank and the ranks themselves were more fluid. In Scandinavia, the term jarl, the basis for the English term earl, meant duke. Avalon is a patchwork of primarily British, but also French and Scandinavian traditions. We have dukes and counts, and for us, the rank between is earl… higher than the British version, but lower than the Scandinavian one."

"Huh," Tracey said lamely. "So dukes have dukedoms, counts have counties, but what do earls have here?"

"Nothing," Frank said. "Neither do the dukes, properly. Dukes here, like dukes in Britain used to hold dukedoms, but there were only two of them, Avalon and Dumnonia, and when Dumnonia was lost the dukes became more like councillors. or assistants. The earls held shires in fief. There were four of them in the distant past, but now there are only two, and they're no longer recognized administrative divisions. The landed earls still have holdings in their shires, but they don't lord over the shires anymore. They and the dukes now hold senior military positions or other positions in government. The landed counts are the hereditary executives of the counties, and have been for one and a half millennia. The landless counts are government servants."

"So are you a count?" Tracey asked.

"No," Frank laughed. "My grandfather is, and my father could be, but after him my older brother is next in line, and my nephew and niece after him. I'm in the line of succession, but if Harry has two children, his second will become the count or countess when the current holder dies, and the line of succession will reset. That's how the Potters have always done it."

"That sounds unfair," Tracey observed, moving closer.

"It's not that big a deal," Frank shrugged. "It's not a landed title, so it confers no monetary benefits or responsibilities. The landless nobles of Avalon get no special legal recognition. It's mostly a burden, actually, as I'd have to attend stuffy ceremonies and smile and wave a lot."

"OK, maybe that doesn't sound fun," Tracey agreed, reconsidering.

"Down girl," Justin said, pulling her slightly away from Frank.

"Hey!" Tracey said. Everyone laughed.

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The next news came in January, following the New Year. Hestia Jones, in her guise as a member of the Order, had been sent to Grimmauld Place on the fourth. Dumbledore had taken the time in September to painstakingly tear down the wards after getting permission from the Wizengamot under the auspices of searching for his magical charge. That had taken two and a half weeks to accomplish with the help of Bill Weasley and two goblin wardbreakers.

At Grimmauld, Hestia was supposed to search for information on the Blacks' Bahamian property. No such information had been found in any of the previous searches Dumbledore had authorized, but he was running out of time and out of leads. Instead of finding information about the Bahamas, Hestia found the body of Kreature, who had died trying to defend the house from 'the invaders' when the wards had fallen. Knowing she wouldn't find what she was searching for, she plopped into a chair in the parlour. On a whim, she pulled out a horcrux detector and was immediately rewarded with a positive reading. Five minutes later, she was holding Slytherin's locket, which she'd managed to pull out of Kreature's nest. That night, following a negative report to Dumbledore, she boarded a plane to Avalon to deliver the horcrux to the Ministry of Education researchers.

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The morning of the fifth, a Sunday, Harry got the news at breakfast.

"So the diary and ring are destroyed," Harry summarized, "and we have the cup, the locket, and me in our possession. That leaves the diadem and the snake at large."

"That's correct," Tom agreed. "I spoke with the lead researcher last night via phone, and she assured me that they would use the locket and cup to test several hypotheses they have regarding removing the horcrux without killing you."

"When are they doing that?" Harry asked.

"Sometime this week," Tom said. "She said it would take some time to set up."

"Well, that's better news than I had last week," Harry said with a grin. "What else is going on?"

"It looks like the Death Eaters have finally worked things out," Tom replied. "When the exodus happened, they appeared to shut down operations for a while. I think the loss of their main targets confused them. It seems that with the muggleborn out of the way, the traditional enmity between the weres and the blood purists reasserted itself. There was some sort of power struggle within the organization. Voldemort was trying very hard to clamp down on that, and it appears he's finally succeeded."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"We're not entirely sure," Tom said. "Albus knows a little more than we do, but he's keeping the details fairly close to the chest."

"He tends to do that," Harry sighed.

"Quite," Tom agreed. "Anyway, the werewolf packs seem to have abandoned Voldemort. You'll remember that for the past four months or so there have been a few random attacks on muggles, but otherwise not much activity."

"Yes," Harry allowed.

"That's a result of Voldemort losing control," Tom explained. "According to Albus, some of the packs have joined with the Order. The rest of the packs are unaligned, but now are definitely the enemies of the Death Eaters."

"What about the vampires and giants?" Neville asked.

"We've seen no movement from the vampire nests in France, Hungary, and Romania," Tom replied. "The giants are still in Russia and the far north of Scandinavia. Albus is reporting that their Death Eater envoys have returned."

"That's good news," Hermione said.

"Not necessarily," Tom countered. "It may mean they've recognized continuing negotiations to be pointless, or it may signal that Voldemort no longer thinks he needs them to accomplish his goals. We'll have to wait and see."

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Albus was enjoying dinner in his customary post in the Great Hall. He'd learned to work around his painful disability, eating with his left hand. The potion Severus supplied was keeping the withering confined to his right arm so far, but it was slowly creeping up his arm and increasingly painful. Below him, the students had adapted to the missing students. New friendships had formed, and the crowd, though thinner, was as boisterous as ever. Albus could see Ron Weasley talking animatedly with Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas.

They were something of a conundrum for Albus. Mr. Weasley was Harry's closest friend, yet he'd been left behind when the others had disappeared. Mr. Finnegan was a half-blood, but Mr. Thomas was muggleborn. Albus wondered again why Mr. Thomas was still present when the other muggleborns had left. Other than Mr. Thomas, whoever had tracked down the muggleborns had done a thorough job. It was another piece of the puzzle that Albus had to accept he might never understand.

He was increasingly worried that he would not be able to locate Harry in time. He had most of the Order out looking in the Bahamas at the moment. Severus, of course, was at school, and Kingsley and Arthur were in the Ministry, but the rest were overseas. They had been there for nearly two months, ever since Hestia reported that she found nothing at Grimmauld Place.

Albus was brought out of his musings by a commotion coming from the entry hall. He rose, and had made it about halfway to the door when a decidedly beat-about Kingsley, Amelia Bones, and Rufus Scrimgeour burst into the Great Hall flanked by six other battle-scarred Aurors.

"Greetings, Madam Bones," Albus said, putting on his kind-but-worried face. "Is something the matter?"

"I'd say so," Madam Bones replied gravely. "The Ministry's fallen, not fifteen minutes ago."

"Voldemort?" Albus asked, shocked.

"Killed Fudge himself," Madam Bones confirmed. "We were all there. Twelve of the Aurors and I managed to make it out. The other four are on their way to the hospital wing."

"St. Mungos?" Albus asked.

"Fallen too," Kingsley interjected. "We tried to floo our injured there from the Ministry, and they landed in the middle of a killing field. Blood everywhere. We managed to floo to the Hogshead instead."

"What about Diagon Alley?" Albus pressed.

"I have no idea," Madam Bones answered. "I put out an alert to all surviving Ministry personnel to gather here so we can get accountability."

"Azkaban?" Albus asked, worried.

"I don't know," Madam Bones answered. "I haven't had word."

"I don't think we need to worry the students further," Professor McGonagall said, bustling up, Snape in tow. "Perhaps we might continue this discussion in your office, Albus."

"Of course, Minerva," Albus replied calmly, striding back to the staff table. "Pomona, can you see that our guests have accommodation? It appears that they'll be staying for quite some time."

"Yes, Headmaster," Professor Sprout agreed. Albus nodded and turned. The leaders followed. The other Aurors stood around for a moment staring at each other before one of their number shrugged and sat at the Ravenclaw table. He promptly served himself some steak and kidney pie and began eating as though nothing had happened.

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Over the course of the night and the next day Ministry employees came and went. They were primarily from the light families. The dark families stayed in the Ministry under the new regime. The greys were split. Some stayed, hoping for preferential treatment under Voldemort, or at least to go unnoticed. Others fled, with some staying home, and others joining the Ministry in Exile under Madam Bones at Hogwarts.

Arthur Weasley made an appearance before the end of the first night, as did Alastor Moody, who had returned from the Bahamas to report continuing failure on the part of the Order. Others, such as Griselda Marchbanks and Amos Diggory, stopped by the next day. Some accepted the offered shelter, others declined, citing the need to be able to defend their property.

All told, nearly forty witches and wizards had joined the Ministry in Exile. Almost all of the Ministry employees had survived the attack, which had happened after most of them had left for the day. Madam Bones knew of at least ten who had died, mainly Aurors. That left over a hundred Ministry employees remaining on duty with the Voldemort regime. Voldemort had control over most of the national infrastructure, including the floo network, the _Prophet_ , St. Mungo's, and Diagon Alley. Azkaban had fallen, and most of the prisoners released. Hogsmeade, benefiting from its location next to Hogwarts, was under the rule of the Ministry in Exile, but it stood alone in that regard.

Ironically, the Wizengamot was split almost exactly, with twenty-six members siding with the Ministry in Exile, and twenty-four members siding with Voldemort. Albus could count the Abbott, Black, Bones, Brown, Doge, Fawley, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Longbottom, Lowe, MacDougal, Macmillan, Marchbanks, Moody, Ogden, Ollivander, Perks, Peverell, Prewett, Potter, Ravenclaw, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn, and Weasley seats amongst his supporters. While on the opposite side, he was opposed by the Avery, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Crabbe, Crouch, Flint, Fudge, Gaunt, Gibbon, Greengrass, Lestrange, Malfoy, Mulciber, Nott, Parkinson, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Slytherin, Travers, Umbridge, Urquart, and Yaxley seats. Not that the lack of a majority would stop Voldemort. Indeed, it hadn't.

The _Prophet_ that morning had trumpeted Voldemort's seizure of the Ministry as though he were a conquering hero. It also reported that the Wizengamot had unanimously voted Voldemort as the Lord Protector of Britain, replacing the post of Minister for Magic. It had also voted to dissolve the Wizengamot, replacing it with a Council of Elders who were appointed by the Lord Protector to advise him, sit in judgement of criminals, and help run the Ministry. Albus threw the paper down on his desk in disgust. He had his oligarchy, but under the wrong leadership.

"It's only a matter of time before he strikes us," Madam Bones said, sipping her tea.

"By the end of the week," Albus guessed. "We're a thorn in his side that he can't ignore."

"We're fifty adults and almost five hundred children," Madam Bones elaborated.

"I've recalled the Order of the Phoenix," Albus informed her. "That should add another fifteen wands. We're better trained, wand for wand, I should think. And we hold Howarts."

"Which hasn't been attacked in almost eight hundred years," Madam Bones pointed out. "Who knows if the wards will hold?"

"The wards will hold," Albus told her firmly. Madam Bones sighed and rubbed her temples. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. "The wards must hold."

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"What's our next step?" Harry asked at breakfast that same morning.

"That depends," Tom replied. Charlus was there as well, which was unusual.

"On what?" Harry pressed.

"On what you want to do," Tom replied. "We have a variety of possible responses to choose from; ranging from 'do nothing' to 'invade'."

"What's in between?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps the most sensible course of action would be to consult with Her Majesty, and see what she thinks," Charlus interjected. "It is her nation, after all."

"How soon can we set that up?" Harry wanted to know.

"For this? We can have you on the Royal Flight in an hour," Tom said. "I can call ahead to schedule the meeting at Buckingham Palace."

"Best do that," Harry decided. "What about activating the reserves?"

"To what end?" Charlus asked.

"Preparedness," Harry replied. "Worst case, we invade. Best case, they get some extended training."

"It will cost," Charlus replied. "You're proposing to pay nearly forty thousand servicemen, in addition to feeding, housing, and supplying them."

"What do my household finances look like?" Harry asked.

"They took a significant hit last summer," David said from the side. "As you're of course aware. You recouped most of the loss over the subsequent months, and you're nearly back to where you were before July 1."

"Is there enough to cover the soldiers' salaries?" Harry asked. David's eyes gravitated towards the ceiling, thinking.

"Activating the military for a year would set you back somewhere in the neighbourhood of four hundred million galleons," David said. "Roughly half of what you have available."

"Would it be possible to convince Parliament to allow me to activate the military if I cover the cost of the salaries?" Harry asked.

"It's possible," Charlus replied. "The military hasn't been activated since the Second World War."

"It can't hurt to try," Harry said. "Charlus, I want you to begin talks with the Prime Minister with the goal of allowing Parliament to let me activate the military until the crisis in Britain is complete. If he balks, tell him I'll pay salaries, but ask that Parliament cover the rest. Tom, you're coming with me to Britain. I want to know what the Queen knows about Magical Britain, and how she's interacted in the past. You can brief me on the plane."

Tom nodded, and went to call the airport. Charlus rose and left too. Harry shovelled one last spoonful of eggs into his mouth and drained his tea. He stood quickly, surprised when Hermione and Neville also stood.

"We're coming with you," Hermione said, matter-of-factly. Harry blinked.

"Of course you are," Harry said. "You're just as much my advisors as Tom."

"I'll stay here," Luna said off-handedly.

"Why?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"I don't properly care about Britain anymore," she said.

"But you live there!" Hermione said.

"I don't," Luna replied. "I live here now. I go to school here. All my friends are here."

"What about Ginny?" Neville asked.

"Ginny doesn't like me anymore," Luna said sadly. "We were friends as children, but I think she's embarrassed of me now. She tolerates me for your sakes. She and Ron both call me Loony, but you all never have."

"It's OK., Luna," Harry said. "I won't make you go. You should have Professor Owen take you to the Royal Wildlife Preserve instead. I hear there are some more exotic magical animals there, including dragons and snorkacks."

"Yes, please!" Luna replied, excited. She was practically hopping up and down in her chair.

"Where is the preserve?" Hermione asked.

"In the Gwyrdd Mountains, beyond the Hynafol Vale," Harry replied.

Passing west from Camelot, the vast rolling fields of Avalon gave way to forested hills, and they, in turn to mountains. The entire western third of Avalon was mountainous, with cliffs and fjords dotting the coastline. The earliest British visitors had named them Gwyrdd, or green, in Welsh. In the far west, where the winds howled in off the Atlantic the slopes were barren of all but grass, but as the wind was checked by the peaks, and rain fell, vast forests of oak, elm, maple, walnut, ash, and alder grew in the valleys and on the hillsides. The biggest valley in western Avalon was the Hynafol Vale, the home of the high elves. At the centre of the Broceliande Forest, it was Avalon's premier tourist destination, renowned for its beauty and peace. Harry and his friends had visited one Sunday near the end of August.

"They have Crumple-Horned Snorkacks there?" Luna asked hopefully.

"I think so," Harry replied. "I know for sure they have a thestral herd, griffins, hypogriffs, dragons—the Common Welsh Green—unicorns, and graphorns."

"Aren't Graphorns extinct?" Neville asked.

"Not here, they're not," Harry replied.

Tom popped his head back in.

"Ready to go, Harry?" he asked.

"Right," Harry replied. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Fate of Governments**

Harry sat in the 1844 Room at Buckingham Palace. It was bright and golden. The chairs were formal, but comfortably upholstered. In the chair next to him, Hermione was a bundle of nervous energy. Neville, on Harry's other side, seemed to be looking everywhere at once.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, leaning over to speak with her.

"Yes," she replied, stilling her foot. He reached over and took her hand.

"I don't know why you're nervous, you already know one royal, what's one more?" Harry asked lightly.

"I'm not nervous!" Hermione shot back.

"Really?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Fine, I'm nervous," she replied. "It's not every day you meet the Queen!"

"What am I, chopped liver?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she answered. "But, I have a pre-existing relationship with you."

"So we have a relationship now?" Harry needled, grinning.

"That's not what I…" Hermione sputtered, but she caught Harry's grin, and huffed.

"Not that I'm opposed to a relationship," Harry continued. "In fact, considering just how important you are to me, I'd welcome a relationship with you. I just thought that you'd at least consult me before announcing it to the world."

"I meant… Wait. Are you seriously asking me to be your girlfriend right before we meet the Queen?" she asked, indignantly.

"Again, I fail to see how Her Majesty's proximity factors into things so significantly, seeing as anytime you're in my presence, you're in the presence of Royalty," Harry replied, nonplussed, "But, yes."

"You could've picked a more romantic setting," Hermione sulked.

"Palaces are pretty romantic, right Nev?" Harry asked.

"I'm staying out of this one," Neville said, raising his hands.

"Anyway, you were the one who brought up the subject," Harry observed, turning back to Hermione.

"Fine, then, yes," Hermione replied. "I'm not kissing you in Buckingham Palace, though."

"Obviously, the kiss comes after the first date," Harry allowed cheekily. "I'll be sure to have Tom reserve some time in my schedule in the evenings this week for us."

"You are insufferable," Hermione claimed, rolling her eyes.

"You're not nervous anymore, are you?" he asked in reply.

"I…" she started, but just then the double doors to the hall opened, and Tom and a palace staffer entered.

"May I present, Her Majesty, Elizabeth the Second, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," the staffer announced.

The Queen entered. Harry and his friends stood. She was shorter than he'd expected, shorter than him, anyway. She wore a forest green jacket and skirt. Her curly grey hair was cropped short. She wore a smile that she bestowed on Harry without hesitance. Harry and Neville bowed slightly, while Hermione executed a brief curtsy.

"Your Majesty," she said, approaching him, hand extended. "Welcome."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Harry replied. "May I introduce my good friends, Hermione Granger, of Richmond, London, and Neville Longbottom, of St. Ives, Cambridgeshire."

"A pleasure to meet you both," the Queen replied, shaking their hands. "Shall we sit?" The four of them did so, as Tom joined them and the staffer withdrew, closing the doors behind him.

In the brief seconds between them sitting and conversation resuming, Harry had the opportunity to consider the appearance they presented to the Queen. In the last seven months, Harry had taken to wearing business casual: khaki trousers, a lightly coloured or patterned button down shirt, and a jacket, usually in a tweed or other textured grey. His hair had been tamed through proper trimming and the application of product which he'd never really bothered with in the past. The morning exercises had gotten him in fairly good shape. He wasn't sporting a six-pack yet, but there were muscles where there hadn't been any before, and there wasn't any flab, despite his improved diet.

Hermione usually wore jeans and a light top with a business-style jacket. Her hair was longer, and was pulled back into a neat French plait that contained her natural frizziness. In contrast to when he'd met her, the slightly frumpy, frizzy mess of a girl had been replaced by a sophisticated woman. Like Harry, the exercise had merely toned her body and kept the fat away.

Neville was perhaps the most changed. He'd grown to average height, enough to present an adult appearance. In the last seven months he'd lost his fat, and gained muscle; lots of muscle. He looked a bit like a rugby player in Harry's opinion. He preferred three-piece suits, and liked pin-stripes. At the moment he was wearing a medium blue suit, though without the pin-stripes. His hair was short, like Harry's, and neatly combed. His improved appearance had elevated his confidence. That, and obtaining a new wand when Professor Owen had told him his father's didn't work well for him, had improved his magic, as well.

"Charlus informed me you'd been crowned," the Queen began. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry said graciously. "I'm happy to be here. I hope to enjoy at least as good a relationship as you had with my great uncle, though I realize that might be difficult."

"Age isn't everything," the Queen opined with a smile. "Charlus informed me that you have several qualities that I find myself in need of at the moment. If you hadn't reached out today, I would have."

"How may I be of service, ma'am?" Harry asked.

"Tell me about what's happening in Magical Britain," she ordered.

"It appears that the criminal Tom Riddle, who styles himself Lord Voldemort, has seized control of the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, and Diagon Alley, Magical Britain's largest commercial centre," Harry informed her. "He leads a force of criminals called Death Eaters, who bear his mark on their right arms just below the elbow.

"I'm sure you're aware," he continued, "that Magical Britons tend to class themselves as light, grey, or dark. It speaks to their nature… the type of magic they prefer, and their familial alliances. While the grey faction is the largest, it is also the most passive. Large numbers of grey magicals are staying in place despite the illegal seizure of the levers of power, simply because they hope to be ignored.

"The light faction is the second largest, slightly larger than the dark faction," Harry said. "But they're less effective fighters than the dark faction, because they refuse to use more powerful and lethal dark curses. The light faction and a small number of greys, perhaps twenty percent of them, have fallen back on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Hogsmeade, and established a Ministry in Exile.

"The dark faction leads perhaps eighty percent of the greys from London," Harry continued. "Voldemort has dissolved the Wizengamot, Magical Britain's traditional legislative and judicial body, and declared himself Lord Protector. He has given himself the legislative, executive, and judicial functions of government. Some judicial and advisory capacity has been devolved onto a small council of advisors: leading Death Eaters, entirely loyal to Voldemort."

"How secure is the Ministry's position at Hogwarts?" the Queen asked.

"Not very," was Harry's brief answer. "Minister Fudge is dead. The leadership at Hogwarts consists of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Most of her department has rallied to Hogwarts, as have a majority of the votes on the Wizengamot. As of right now, they control Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, and nothing else."

"Will Voldemort move against Hogwarts?" the Queen asked.

"He'll have to," Harry said. "Right now, I expect he's consolidating his power. I'm sure he's sending teams to kill off prominent light faction members who are staying at home. He's also reintegrating the Death Eaters he's sprung from prison. Once his enemies are culled and his ranks restored, he'll move against Hogwarts. The wards will hold for a time, and then they'll fall, and the last bit of free Magical Britain with it."

"What will he do then?" the Queen wanted to know.

"His ultimate goal is the subjugation of muggles under magicals, magicals under pure-blooded magicals, and those under him," Harry said. "Once Magical Britain is in his grasp, he'll try to secure alliances with other magical countries. Eastern Europe will be first, as they have higher percentages of dark magicals there. When he's secured the alliance of enough dark magicals, they'll move against other magical countries. Magical France will probably be first."

"Why wouldn't he come after my government first?" the Queen asked, confused.

"If he violated the International Statutes of Secrecy before controlling most of the magical world, he'd be inviting the rest of the world's magicals to declare war on him," Harry explained. "He can fight against equal numbers, even against a larger force, but not against the entire world. No… He might conduct some attacks against the UK, but it will all be explainable as something else… a gas main break, a storm, a fireworks explosion… the statutes won't be broken. Most people look for the rational explanation, even if it doesn't properly fit. Magic isn't a rational explanation for most Britons.

"But you are correct that Magical Britain under Voldemort poses a dire threat to you and your people," Harry agreed. "Perhaps not today, but soon, Voldemort will come for you, your government, and your nation. He will begin a campaign of state-sponsored murder and terror if he hasn't already."

"What can we do?" the Queen asked.

"Unfortunately you can't do much, Ma'am," Harry said. "There are muggle-repelling wards around most magical areas that muggle Britons won't be able to penetrate. Where there is interface with the muggle world, the entrances are disguised so as to be unrecognizable to the uninitiated.

"It is longstanding tradition that Avalon does not become involved with the internal affairs of the UK," Harry continued, changing gears slightly. "It would be a violation of your sovereignty, and would expose us to unfortunate consequences. That said, I've chosen to interpret that tradition fairly loosely. What is occurring is both a humanitarian crisis for Magical Britain as well as a threat to the Statutes of Secrecy. Therefore, I've determined that for several reasons, Magical Britain and the UK are two separate sovereign countries that inhabit the same physical territory. I've directed Charlus to begin seeking permission from our Parliament to activate the Avalonian military for deployment to the UK to defend it from Magical Britain."

"You would invade us?" the Queen asked, horrified.

"Absolutely not," Harry said, quashing her thought. "If we came, it would be at your expressed request, and with a memorandum of understanding between our countries determining the scope of our activities, the length of our stay, and what we were allowed to do. Actions taken against Magical Britain would be in defence of the United Kingdom, its government, and its people.

"We have available an Army division, three RAF groups, and sixteen ships of the Royal Navy," Harry elaborated. "We have extensive knowledge of the areas of the British Isles where magicals live, work, and play, and would be willing to work with a select group of British military officers to construct a viable plan for defeating Magical Britain in combat and implementing a democratically elected government along the lines of the parliaments both our countries have."

"I am agreeable in principle," the Queen allowed. "I would like to have trustworthy officers monitor your forces, if that wouldn't violate the statutes."

"I would welcome it, Ma'am," Harry agreed. "I'll also have to check with the President of Ireland, but there might be some of their chaps watching too."

"Why would the Irish be observing actions against British magicals?" the Queen asked.

"While the United Kingdom ceded the Irish Republic earlier this century, the government of Magical Britain still controls the magicals in all the British Isles, including the territory now overseen by the Irish Republic," Harry explained. "We'll, of necessity, probably be operating in Ireland as well."

The Queen stood and walked to a small table with a telephone on it. She picked it up and dialled a number.

"Please have Ambassador Barrington join me in the 1844 Room as soon as possible," she said, speaking into the phone. "That's right… No… That would be fine. Thank You. Goodbye." With that, she hung up. "No sense in waiting," she said as she returned to her seat. "The Irish Ambassador will be joining us in perhaps ten minutes. We might also expect my son."

"That soon?" Harry asked.

"Grosvenor Place is just around the corner, Harry," Hermione said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"The Irish Embassy is at Grosvenor Place, about half a mile from here by car," Hermione elaborated.

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Unlike your aunt and uncle, my parents took me places as a child," Hermione said.

"Where does your family live?" the Queen asked Harry.

"Little Whinging, Surrey, Ma'am," Harry explained. "I used to live with my mother's sister, her husband, and my cousin."

"So close, and they never left the house?" the Queen asked, saddened.

"They left the house all the time," Harry said. "But they would leave me with the neighbour. In the summers, they'd go to Brighton for a week, or they'd go to London to see things. They even went to Paris once."

"And they never took you?" the Queen nearly blurted.

"No Ma'am," Harry informed her. "My aunt and uncle don't like me much. They're scared of magic."

"I find it hard to believe that no more comfortable accommodations could have been made for you," the Queen stated.

"The explanation would take longer than we have today, Ma'am," Harry deflected. "I would have much preferred going to Avalon to live with my great uncle and his family."

"Charlus is a wonderful man," the Queen agreed, smiling. "He and Prince Philip get on famously."

"Really?" Harry asked, astonished.

"Your grandfather was perhaps even more engaging than Charlus," the Queen revealed. "When I was younger, he'd tell me about my ancestors that he'd known. He would see them making very tough decisions, and understanding their though process helped me make my own decisions. According to Fleamont, I am much more like my grandfather than Victoria, though our reigns have seen similar turmoil in the nation."

Before Harry had the chance to reply, the doors opened and Prince Charles entered with his two sons. Harry recognized him easily from every tabloid and news programme in Britain. His divorce last year had been the most talked about event in recent British history. Wills, behind him, was fourteen, nearly Harry's age, and his brother, Harry, was twelve. Charles was wearing a suit, and his sons wore khaki trousers and polo shirts.

"Oh, good," the Queen said. "Sir, I'd like you to meet my son, Charles, and my grandsons, William and Harry." Harry stood to greet them. "Charles, this is Harry, King of Avalon, and his companions, Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Potter." Harry shook hands with Charles, before moving on to William and Harry, who grinned at him. It was sort of odd to meet another Harry, and this one nearly as famous as himself in their own worlds.

"The Irish Ambassador will be joining us shortly," the Queen began as the greetings were concluded. Everyone sat. "King Harry, here, was telling us what's to be done about the Voldemort situation." Charles nodded, while William and Harry were focused on the three teens across from them. "He reckons the time has come for military action, and will try to persuade his parliament to allow it."

"Avalon will be invading us?" Charles asked stiffening.

"No," the Queen corrected. "We will be hosting their forces while they attack Magical Britain."

"Due to national policy, Avalon doesn't interfere with the internal struggles of the UK," Harry explained. "However, while the Minister for Magic has a discussion channel with the Prime Minister, the Magical British government doesn't recognize the Queen as sovereign, especially now that the Minister's position has been desolved by the de facto ruler of Magical Britain. The two nations occupy a different, but overlapping territory. The Ministry operates completely independent of the British government. Magical Britain has its own laws and traditions. It has its own education and healthcare. It has its own police.

"In the past, Avalon has been asked, and declined, to support military actions against James II, the Jacobites, the Americans, the Indians, the Chinese, and the South Africans," Harry said. "In each instance, it was either a civil war, or a rebellion against British rule. This case is different however, in that, while it is occurring in territory claimed by the UK, the offending party is not fighting against British rule to escape from over overthrow it. This is not a civil war or a rebellion. This is nation-state against nation-state. This is, or soon will be, two internationally recognized governments slugging it out, no different from the Napoleonic Wars, or World War Two. This war we can, and should, support."

"So it's come to war, then?" Charles asked. "I'd heard that the wizards had lost some property."

"There's one holdout under the old regime," Harry informed him. "The rest is under control of a magical criminal who will eventually threaten the world. When he succeeds at toppling the last of the Magical British government, he'll bring full-on magical war to Britain. French and German magicals will be fighting here to stop him. If he wins, and he might, he'll turn on the UK next, and then the rest of the world. He wants to rule everything, with some magicals over the rest, and them over all."

"We just put paid to the bloody Soviets, and now this?" Charles asked. "Tell me we can stop this man."

"We can," Harry allowed. "I can. If I can't do it as King of Avalon, I'll do it as Baron de Coleville and Lord Potter. I'll get a hunting license from the Queen and raise my own army."

"We have an army," Charles pointed out.

"A muggle army," Harry countered. "It won't be able to see half the targets. They can hide themselves ways muggles can't see. It wouldn't be nearly as effective."

"We will, of course, still assist," the Queen said. "Avalonian forces will have full access to British facilities."

"Of course," Charles agreed.

They were interrupted as a moustachioed man with wavy red hair and large glasses entered. He went up to the Queen.

"Mr. Barrington," the Queen greeted. "It's so nice to see you again."

"Your Majesty," Barrington replied with an Irish lilt. "A pleasure as always. How can Ireland be of service today?"

"Your Majesty," the Queen said to Harry. "Permit me to introduce Mr. Edward Barrington, Ambassador of the Republic of Ireland to the United Kingdom. Mr. Barrington, His Majesty, King Harry of Avalon." Mr. Barrington's smile slipped.

"Ma'am," he said, looking back at the Queen as Harry stood. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"I assure you, it's not," the Queen replied, slightly indignantly.

"Your President should be able to explain the matter to you," Harry interjected.

"If you'd like to confirm the existence of Avalon with your President, you have my leave to use the telephone," the Queen said, indicating the device on the table on the far side of the room. Barrington nodded curtly, and did so. The entire room watched as he made the call.

"Madam President, it's Ted Barrington in London," Barrington said. "I'm with the Queen right now, and have been introduced to a boy she claims is the King of Avalon. I think she takes me for a moron… Yes… No, of course not… But… Are you codding me? I don't like jokes… OK… I'll do. Alright. Yes, of course… Very good. Goodbye." He hung up and turned back.

"My apologies, Your Majesties," Barrington said as he crossed.

"Completely understandable," Harry accepted.

"I've been told to request a demonstration?" It came out as a question.

"By your leave, Ma'am," Harry requested of the Queen.

"Of course," the Queen replied. "I always did like seeing it." Harry pulled out his wand. William and Harry's eyes widened knowingly.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" Harry bellowed. A huge white stag erupted from Harry's wand and began prancing about the room, searching for an enemy. Finding none, it came over to Harry and started nuzzling his arm. "This is a corporeal patronus charm," he explained. "They're used to drive away dementors."

"I have no idea what any of that means," the Queen said. "But it's a most impressive piece of magic to be sure." Harry ended the spell and the stag dissipated.

"What was that?" Barrington asked, shaken.

"Magic," the Queen replied. Harry proceeded to turn a handy cushion into a small dog and changed the colour of Mr. Barrington's tie from red to a tricolour stripe mimicking the colours of the Irish flag.

"Impossible!" Barrington gasped, grasping at his tie. The cushion-dog yapped at his feet. Harry cancelled the transfiguration and the dog reverted to a cushion. Harry picked it up and placed it back on the couch.

"No," Harry replied. "Merely improbable. I assure you magic is entirely possible. It is the reason you're here today."

"You're to show me magic tricks?" Barrington asked, still fingering his tie.

"Only to familiarize yourself with the concept," Harry said. "The world contains many magicals: witches and wizards. Hermione and Neville are, as am I, obviously. Today we must focus on those close to home. The British Isles as you know them are divided between the United Kingdom and the Irish Republic, but there is a third nation: Magical Britain. Magical Britain occupies the same physical territory as both non-magical realms, but its citizens exist hidden from non-magical people. This is because of the International Statutes of Secrecy signed centuries ago to keep magic hidden from all but the most important non-magicals. It is widely believed that non-magicals would become scared of us, and attempt to destroy us.

"Most magicals in Magical Britain live and work in London, the south-west of England, or Scotland, though there are sizeable enclaves in Wales and Ireland," Harry continued. "The largest enclaves in Ireland are in Ballycastle in the North, and Kenmare in the Republic.

"I am King of Avalon," Harry added. "Avalon is a magical nation west of Britain and France, and south of Ireland. It is an island nation that has been trading peacefully with Ireland and the UK for a millennia. We have an ambassador in Dublin, known to your president. For this next bit you may want to take notes." Harry summoned a notepad and pen from beside the telephone and handed them to Mr. Barrington.

"I'm here today because there's a threat looming in Britannia," Harry explained. "A criminal styling himself Lord Voldemort has seized power in Magical Britain and threatens war with other magical nations, with the eventual goal of subjugating the entire world under his power. I aim to stop him. Our forces, being majority magical, are the only ones equipped to deal with the threat posed by Lord Voldemort. I've secured the tacit permission of Her Majesty to station Avalonian troops in the UK in order to fight Lord Voldemort's forces. I plan on asking your president's permission to do the same in the Republic. Your government would, of course, be granted observer privileges, and allowed to accompany Avalonian forces during manoeuvrers. I ask that you present my request to your president, and provide me with an official reply."

By the time Harry and his friends left after dinner, he had everything he'd asked for. Both the Queen and the Irish President, by telephone, had agreed to allow Avalon to base military personnel and equipment at various places in their territory. The British were further cooperating by allowing the use of various reconnaissance satellites.

The legwork would be done later. The various Prime Ministers and ministry officials would be browbeaten into submission… politely, of course. In reality it wouldn't take much convincing, especially from John Major, who had already reported unfavourably on the one conversation he'd had with Lucius Malfoy just that week. Malfoy apparently had told him there was a new leader of Magical Britain and there was no further need for cooperation between the two governments. Such an ultimatum had obviously not gone over well.

While Harry was talking with the Queen, Prince Charles, Tom, and the Irish Ambassador, Neville struck up conversation with Prince William. Prince Harry was keenly interested in the substance of their conversation, as it revolved around magic. Hermione jumped between the two conversations, torn between wanting to be fully informed, and wanting to pass along her knowledge of magic. The evening ended satisfactorily for Harry, with many of the smaller details worked out in principle, and some new friendships formed.

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"Stop right there," Hermione commanded once Harry had gotten out of the car at Camelot Castle. "Tom, Neville, you go on ahead. _His Majesty_ and I need to have some words."

"Good luck, mate," Neville stage whispered before disappearing into the night. Tom just rolled his eyes and left.

"What's up?" Harry asked, trying to look innocent. It was a little awkward, as they were standing in the middle of the King's Bailey. At least the car had driven off. He glanced at the sentries posted in front of the Ministry of Defence building. "Fancy a walk in the gardens?"

"Fine," Hermione huffed, glancing at the guards herself. Once they were safely through the gate she rounded on him. "What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?"

"You're talking about me asking you out," Harry said. It wasn't a question. She nodded.

"How could you drop that on me like that?" she asked, agitated.

"I noticed you didn't say no," Harry said.

"Of course I didn't say no," Hermione raged. "I love you, you bloody idiot!" Then she realized what she'd said and gasped, covering her mouth. Her eyes widened like dinner plates. Harry grinned widely.

"I love you too," he informed her. She gaped at him. "You're my best friend, Hermione. You've always been there for me. You've always helped me. And yes, perhaps we're putting the cart before the horse, shouting about love before we've even started dating, but I feel like I know you so well already, it doesn't bother me in the least."

"I'm still mad at you!" she proclaimed after sputtering for a bit.

"And you have every right to be," Harry allowed. "Just tell me what I can do to make it up to you, because I hate it when you're cross with me."

"You can start by kissing me," she shot back. "We can figure out the re…" Harry cut her off, grabbing her and kissing her soundly. She was shocked at first, but quickly melted into his embrace. When he pulled back she was a little dazed. "More please," she said breathily. Harry obliged.

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Everyone was wrong. It was the Ides of March before Voldemort made his move. Albus awoke that morning to ringing alarms that indicated there was an attempt to breach the wards. He dressed quickly before hurrying to Madam Bones' chambers in the staff wing. As he went, he passed families emerging from disused classrooms to see what was going on.

Over the past week, more and more light and grey families moved into Hogwarts. Some of them had barely escaped their own homes during Death Eater raids, while others had seen the writing on the walls, and moved before such a thing had become necessary. There were almost two thousand residents of Hogwarts, nearly a fifth of Magical Britain. To lose them would be disastrous.

Plans had been made, of course. Legally dubious international portkeys had been created and distributed. Most would flee in the next hour. Once the defensive wards around the castle fell, Albus would dismantle the anti-portkey wards, allowing escape. Those that stayed would fight until they could no longer resist, and flee themselves.

Ten minutes later, Albus, Madam Bones, Minerva, and others stood on the battlements of the castle, looking out over the grounds into the pre-dawn morning. In the distance, they could see the glow of a hundred fires as Hogsmeade burned. The smoke blotted the northern sky.

"I hope they got away," Minerva said quietly. Albus didn't speak. He was thinking of his brother, who had refused to come to the castle. Albus hoped they'd made it, but knew in his heart that many hadn't. Who among them had joined the ranks of the dead?

Looking closer, Albus could see the army of the New Ministry, just beyond the gates. There were perhaps five hundred in the army Voldemort had brought. He could see no organization. Voldemort was there in the centre, casting mightily at the golden shield that covered the castle and its grounds. Beside him, Albus spotted Lucius Malfoy, the LeStranges, the Carrows, Umbridge, and others doing the same. They no longer wore their masks. They no longer had to hide who they were or what they were doing.

"The wards will hold another hour, perhaps," Albus informed Madam Bones. "We should begin to prepare people to evacuate." Madam Bones nodded.

"You're in charge of the defence," she clarified. "I'll handle the rest. Just let me know when the wards are down." Albus nodded in reply, and looked grimly back at the advancing army.

Unlike the last time, he could see no werewolves, giants, or vampires. He counted perhaps a hundred dementors. It was a small mercy, he supposed, that death would come from a wand or a kiss instead of a bite. It would be a test of power, rather than one of strength or speed.

"Gather the rest," Albus instructed Minerva. She wordlessly complied. Albus looked at the rest who stood ready on the battlements, and those who arrived to bolster their numbers over the next few minutes. The Weasleys were there, as were most of the rest of the Order. The professors, including Severus, were there too. Most of the Auror Corps had stayed loyal to the old guard as well. The heads of several powerful light and grey families stood there too.

Where they had five hundred, he could count perhaps a hundred warriors for the light. But Voldemort's army would be tired from battering down the wards. They would have to advance across the castle grounds and break down the doors. His army had been training for two weeks to fight as a unit and to defend this exact ground. They were fresh, both physically and magically. And he had Hogwarts herself. The castle, with its trick steps and moving stairs, with its hundreds of suits of armour, with its house elves and ghosts, would be its own force.

The first cracks began to form in the golden dome over Hogwarts. Albus sighed, then reached down into himself where he could feel the ribbon of magic that tied him to the school. He tugged, and triggered it. Magic flowed, and he called out to Hogwarts in their hour of need.

"Defend the occupants of the castle!" he commanded. Throughout the castle two hundred ten suits of armour awoke, startling several families as they made ready to escape. The knights of Hogwarts stepped down off their pedestals and turned towards the entrance. With heavy clanking feet they began to march to battle for the first time in over five hundred years. Ghosts flowed to and fro, preparing. Even the occupants of the castle's portraits moved to spots from which intelligence might be gathered once the enemy entered the castle. Albus waited and watched.

Just over an hour after the assault had begun, the golden dome, cracked and weakened, finally shattered. With a purpose, Voldemort's army tore down the gates and charged towards the castle's doors. Albus merely reached into his magic and dropped the anti-portkey wards within the castle itself. Then he cast a patronus and ordered it to inform Madam Bones the wards were down. The glowing bees buzzed off in search of their target. Around him, his forces waited for his signal.

He watched as several dark soldiers tried to mount brooms to join the dementors in the air. He chuckled to himself as they failed, the war wards forbidding magical flying objects from functioning. It was his last moment of levity. When the army crossed the halfway point, he raised the Elder Wand and began casting.

It was the signal his army had waited for. A hundred jets of light sallied forth from the battlements: blue and red and yellow and green. Return fire from below either sailed overhead or splashed harmlessly against the stone. On the field below, casualties began to mount. There was a scream to his left, the first light casualty. For a moment the scream was loud and piercing. Then it was gone. Albus didn't bother looking. Either the man had died or been portkeyed to the hospital wing.

The first of the dark army had reached the doors. A dozen siege engine spells slammed into the door, shaking it and the castle itself. Around him, the other light fighters exchanged nervous glances, even as they redoubled their attacks.

Voldemort arrived at the fore, and launched a silent _bombarda maxima_ at the door. The force of the hit shattered it, sending shrapnel into the entry hall. Albus, seeing nothing more to be done on the battlements, turned to leave.

"The Order and Hogwarts Professors with me!" he called to the others. Twenty-five witches and wizards followed. "Auror Scrimgeour, if you would take command of those who remain?" he asked. Rufus nodded. "Remain here until there are no more of the dark army on the field below. Then bring your force to the hospital wing. I shall meet you there." Rufus nodded again, and Albus led the rest into the castle.

The sounds of battle were echoing through the corridors as the party descended. The portraits began reporting, hurrying from frame to frame to keep up with Albus as he advanced.

"The knights are taking severe damage, but should hold until you arrive," Sir Cadogan reported. "They've taken a fair few of the scurvy knaves down."

"They do their duty as we all do," Albus replied gravely.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in the castle!" Violet shrieked.

"Thank you, Violet," Albus sighed. There was a mighty crash below, and the sounds of battle increased.

"You must hurry!" called Anne Boleyn from a frame a dozen yards ahead. "The knights are about to be overwhelmed.

Albus broke into a run. It was the first time most had seen him do so. Everyone else hurried along as well, except for Alastor Moody, whose quick but steady thump-thump-thump sounded like a metronome over the din of battle below.

Albus rounded a corner, and appeared on a stair above the great hall. Below, perhaps thirty knights continued to fight against three hundred of Voldemort's army. He was firing spells even before he began descending the stair.

The noise was appalling. The knights clanked and clanged. The wizards and witches were shouting and screaming. Spellfire exploded everywhere. The air reeked of ozone and blood and the stench of men cut open. Smoke and haze drifted in the breezeless air, shot at random with bolts of light in a rainbow of colours.

In the middle stood Voldemort, directing the battle like a conductor directing a symphony. He spotted Albus descending the stairs through the fog of battle. It was too loud for words, but they commenced what amounted to a duel in the middle of the crowded hall.

Voldemort started off by firing a killing curse at Albus. Albus dodged. Another came, followed quickly by a third. Albus raised stone up to intercept the spells. The rock exploded when hit, but absorbed the spells.

Albus responded with transfiguration, turning the bannisters into Chinese Fireball dragons and sending them at Voldemort. The two dragons managed to get close enough to singe Voldemort's robes with their fire before he turned them back to stone and they crashed to the floor, shattering in a thousand pieces.

Albus turned the rock shards into bees and set them on his adversary. Voldemort, in turn, brought the roof down on them, crushing them all. Several of his Death Eaters had to scamper out of the way to avoid being crushed as well. Albus hadn't moved from his spot halfway down the stairs. He'd simply levitated the stone away when he'd been threatened.

Voldemort fired a dark cutting curse at Albus, who deflected it. A complete spell chain of dark hexes followed, also deflected. The Elder Wand seemed to sing in his hand: powerful stunners, impediment jinxes, and leg locking jinxes flew from it. He took down two men who had stood beside Voldemort, and Albus smiled as a third was unable to rouse them from their unconscious state.

Voldemort took notice, and in the blink of an eye he'd sent a pair of killing curses that flew past Albus before he could react. He could hear the bodies dropping to the floor, however, and the gasps and cries that followed were unmistakable. He had to know, and for a brief moment turned to look. If he'd had time, he would've cried. Minerva and Arthur both lay behind him on the steps. He turned back to the fight, but didn't make it.

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Albus blinked awake in his office. He sat up from the floor and looked around. Everything had a faint misty quality about it, and something was definitely off. He spent time studying the office trying to determine what it was. None of the portraits were in their frames, and the do dads and gizmos on his shelves were silent.

"It's about time you woke up," Minerva said from the door to his private quarters. Things began to click.

"I… I'm dead, aren't I?" he stammered, unsure if he were afraid or not. He'd always said that death was the next great adventure, but what he'd kept to himself was the truth that adventures can be painful and dangerous.

"Can't get anything past you," Minerva snorted.

"Are you truly Minerva McGonagall?" he asked.

"I'm not," Minerva replied, and left her spot at the door jamb and approached him. She held out her hand. "I am Death, come to collect you."

"Am I to be judged?" Albus asked.

"You've already been judged," Minerva replied.

"And the verdict?" Albus asked curiously.

"You've made some horrible mistakes," Minerva said casually. "But then, you knew that, didn't you?" Albus said nothing. "Never fear," she consoled him. "You'll work off your debt in time." She pulled him to his feet. "Now come on. It's time to go."

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"It's time to go," Moody bellowed, seeing Dumbledore lying there and Voldemort advancing up the stairs. Beside him, Hestia Jones merely nodded. The knights had been destroyed to a suit. Some of their best fighters were down. The wards would be coming online as soon as Hogwarts selected a new interim Headmaster. It wouldn't do to dawdle. Moody disappeared with a pop. Bill Weasley pulled his bawling mum to him and did the same. Charlie and the twins didn't stay a millisecond longer. Flitwick followed. Without another word, Hestia pulled out her portkey and fled.

Unlike the others, she didn't reappear in France. She popped into a stall in a WC in London City Airport where she could book passage on the next Avalon Air flight to Camelot. Before leaving the stall she changed out of her robes and cleaned herself up. Once that had been done she walked to a phone bank and placed a call to a number she'd memorized years ago.

"Hello, this is Marybridge Services," came the voice on the far end of the line.

"Yes, hello," she replied. "My name is Judith White, and I'd like to report a break in services." The code words she'd learned years ago left her lips with poise.

"Yes Ms. White," the disembodied voice said. "Will you be moving until services can be restored?"

"I will," Hestia replied. "I also need to report that the local repairman was unequal to the task. I'm afraid the break is impossible to mend without an outside consultant. There was quite a bit of damage."

"I see," the man on the far side said. "Well, I'll pass that along to corporate. Thank you for your continued business."

"You're most welcome," she ended. "Goodbye." Without waiting for his farewell she rung off and sighed. Then she went straight to the Avalon Air counter.

She spent the next few hours waiting in one of the airport's restaurants before her flight was called. As the BAe 146 aeroplane lifted into the sky she wondered when she'd be returning to the UK. It certainly wasn't safe for her in Magical Britain anymore.

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 _BOOM!_ The air shook. Harry looked downrange to where the target would be. The target, a mound of earth that had been transfigured to look like a house exploded with a bang. Harry looked back at the tank from his vantage point in the range tower. It took three seconds for the tank to fire again. This was a well-trained crew, he'd been told. Below the tower, the other twelve Challenger tanks of C Squadron, the Royal Tank Regiment awaited their turn on the range. The squadron commander had informed Harry that tomorrow they'd be undergoing troop live fire training on a different range where each troop's three tanks could manoeuvre together while shooting.

C Squadron had been activated the week prior, along with the rest of the military, following lengthy and sometimes painful negotiations with Parliament. Beside him, the squadron commander still looked a little unused to the tanker's coveralls he was wearing. They were too new; hadn't been truly broken in yet, despite their monthly training weekends. The entire military needed training time before they could be used as Harry wanted.

The door to the tower opened and a captain entered. He saluted and handed Harry a messenger envelope. Harry returned the salute—he was wearing combat dress, after all—and glanced down at the envelope, saw it was sealed, and opened it.

TOP SECRET

FROM: HQ, Ministry of Defence, Camelot Castle

TO: HM Harry I, CIC

SUBJECT: Intelligence Operations in the UK

Your Majesty,

Hogwarts and Hogsmeade have been taken by Voldemort today. Albus Dumbledore is dead. Most defenders escaped to France. The Avalonian operative with the Order of the Phoenix has returned to Avalon for debrief. HM Elizabeth II and PM have been informed.

Respectfully,

Richard Quincy, Lord Avalon

General

Chief of Staff

TOP SECRET

"I'm needed back at the castle," Harry said to the squadron commander. "Keep up the good work, major," he praised. "We're going to need your boys soon."

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"Thank you Madam Speaker," Harry began, standing before Parliament the next morning. He was wearing the dress uniform from his coronation, though without the trappings of state. "Ladies and Gentlemen of Parliament, It is with heavy heart I tell you that the last shreds of a free and fair government in Magical Britain was exterminated yesterday by rebel forces during the battle of Hogwarts. What survivors there are fled to Magical France via portkey."

He could see some of the MPs reacting visibly to the news. Some actually recoiled in shock, others gasped, a very few rolled their eyes in derision. Regardless, he held the room captivated by the news.

"The new leader of Magical Britain, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, is a threat, not just to Magical Britain, or to the United Kingdom, but to everyone," Harry said. "He trades in dark magic, and his megalomaniacal ambition knows no bounds. His stated purpose is world domination. Having secured control of Magical Britain, his next target is anyone's guess. It could be the United Kingdom, it could be the Republic of Ireland, it could be Magical France, or Magical Germany.

"It is a bitter blow for me, I can assure you," Harry added. "I have lived most of my life in the United Kingdom, and five years in Magical Britain. Magical Britain is where many of my friends have lived and worked their entire lives. Some of those friends are here now in Avalon, but the vast majority are not. Most have fled to France. Some were forced to hide. Some are doubtless dead. I have walked their streets, shopped in their stores, and learned at their school. They are mostly good people, deserving to be helped. I want to help them.

"Regardless," Harry continued. "The time for talking is over. The time for action is now. Our ally, the United Kingdom, stands threatened with war. That the shooting has yet to begin is immaterial. It will come. That the enemy resides within their borders doesn't matter. The enemy that threatens them is not, and has not been a recognized subject body of the United Kingdom, but a separate and independent nation, with its own laws and customs completely separate from that of our ally. It is an ancient nation, having existed apart from the non-magical kingdom for centuries, millennia even.

"I have been in consultation with Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, of the United Kingdom," Harry explained. "In cooperation with Prime Minister John Major, she has secured from the British Parliament a resolution inviting the Kingdom of Avalon to assist in defeating the new government of Magical Britain in order to preserve the Statues of Secrecy, and ensure the return of free and fair government to Magical Britain. A similar resolution has been secured from the Parliament of the Republic of Ireland.

"What I now ask from you," he paused, taking a deep breath, "is a declaration of war against the nation of Magical Britain. I ask that you allow the Military of Avalon to overthrow the malevolent government that now wields power there, so that peace may be restored and my friends can return home in safety. Let us fight against the evils of the world as our forefather have in years gone by. Thank you."

Harry collected his notes and exited the room. In the ante chamber, Tom and Charlus waited with Hermione, Neville, and Luna. Hermione was the first one to reach him, wrapping him in a big hug.

"I'm so proud of you," she said as she let him go.

"Don't be proud of me yet," he replied heavily. "It still has to pass."

"It should," Tom replied. "Dad's been getting around to the various MPs, gauging their support."

"That, and your speech on the telly went over very well," Hermione reminded him. The papers had been positively glowing following his announcement of the activation of the armed forces a week and a half before.

The response from ordinary people was fairly impressive as well. The MoD had reported an unprecedented spike in recruitment that week, despite the looming danger. It was unprecedented because mandatory service made recruiting unnecessary. Almost two thousand people had requested to be allowed to serve. These came from two camps: those who had served previously and wished to reenlist or come out of retirement, and the new immigrants who wanted to help free their homeland. They were accepted for training, and would be placed in existing units to make them over-strength for the invasion.

Harry looked over at the telly in the corner of the ante room that was showing the proceedings of the chamber. One of the Liberal MPs was speaking on the proposed declaration while the various whips were running around marshalling votes. The Prime Minister, a Liberal, had assured him he'd do his best to get the votes needed. The Liberals seemed a lock on the vote, and with it thirty percent of Parliament. Labour, who usually sided with the Liberals and held fifteen percent of the seats, also seemed a fair bet. If the Greens and the Co-Operatives both voted no it could still sink the measure, however.

Harry sat on one of the couches. Hermione sat with him and held his hand. He thought she looked more nervous than he did. Neville stood stoically beside the couch, watching the telly. Luna sat in one of the chairs and looked around quietly. Tom paced nervously. Charlus pulled a small notebook from his pocket and began flipping through it.

"Do I hear any other debate on the proposed declaration?" the speaker asked on the telly. "There being none, I ask that the measure be brought to a vote."

"So brought!" called one of the Liberal MPs.

"Seconded!" shouted another.

"All in favour of the declaration proposed by His Majesty, as submitted…" the speaker said. Hands were raised, and the count taken. "Thank you. All opposed?" Different hands were raised and counted. The tallies were presented to the speaker by the secretary. "The Kingdom of Avalon shall declare that a state of war exists between it and Magical Britain by a measure of seventy-two to twenty-seven, with one abstention." The chambers broke out in cheers, jeers, and other noise.

In the ante room, Harry let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and closed his eyes. Beside him, Hermione was bouncing excitedly. Harry smiled at her, then looked at Neville.

"Let's go free a country," he said. Neville nodded solemnly. Harry looked a bit longer at Neville, who was deadly serious. He'd been one of the people who'd presented themselves at the MoD requesting to serve. Harry had commissioned him on the spot, and now Second Lieutenant Longbottom was permanently assigned as one of Harry's aides de camp. He'd undergo whatever training Harry would, and serve at his side during the upcoming war.

When he'd asked if either of the girls wanted the same, Luna had replied that she didn't think so, but if he'd like to commission her as a wildlife preserve ranger, she'd be happy to accept when she had the necessary training. Hermione had asked to think about it for a few days.

"I want to come too," Hermione said, breaking the silence as Harry was about to leave. "I've decided."

"Well, then Second Leftenant Granger," Harry said with a smirk, "We'd better get you a uniform." He pulled a piece of paper out of one pocket, a pen out of another, and leaned up against the wall to sign it. Jamming the pen back in his pocket, he held out the paper to Hermione, who looked at it. It was her commission.

"How long have you been carrying this around?" she asked.

"Since you said you'd think about it," Harry replied.

"You cheeky bugger," she laughed.

"I knew you'd say yes," he replied, grinning. "The smartest, most beautiful witch of her age doesn't let her boyfriend go off to war by himself." That earned him a kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Calm Before the Storm**

"The important thing to learn is to judge both the forward movement, and the vertical movement," the pilot said over the intercom. "You can't cut back on the throttle too soon, or you'll crash into the sea. You cut back on the throttle too late, and you'll overshoot. Hit the deck too hard and you'll break apart, or at least get badly knocked about what with the protective runes we have. Don't hit the deck and you won't catch an arresting wire."

Harry peered around the seat in front of him. That the pilot managed to relay all that information while also landing the plane was amazing to Harry. Said landing was looming large in front of them, relatively speaking. The deck of the carrier HMS Avalon looked tiny compared to the vast sea. Harry could also see that the ship was rolling slightly with the waves. He could make out the landing lights blinking in friendly patterns at him.

A blink later and the Phantom F.3 tapped the deck and lurched to a stop. Harry was pulled hard against the seat straps. Then the plane let go of the arresting wire and began taxiing to the front of the carrier to park. In a minute, he was climbing down the ladder onto the rolling carrier deck.

He was assaulted by the smell of the sea and the sound of the jets. Nearby, the steam catapult launched a Buccaneer S.2 strike aircraft sending a puff of steam flowing over the deck. Another Phantom taxied over to where Harry's was already folding its wings for economical storage on the flight deck. Harry hurried over to the island where the ship's captain was waiting.

The captain was the familiar Count of Glastonbury. At forty-two, he was senior enough to command a ship, but not quite senior enough to rate higher.

"Your Majesty," the captain said. "Welcome aboard HMS Avalon. The Admiral's waiting to see you. Your aides will be taken to the wardroom to await you once they arrive." Harry nodded and allowed himself to be led away. Presently, he was ushered into a nice, if small, office, panelled in oak.

"Your Majesty," Archibald Thompson, the Earl of Dumnonia said, rising. The Earl, a Vice Admiral, was the senior office in the Royal Navy, and the HMS Avalon was his flagship.

"Admiral Thompson," Harry said, shaking the man's hand. He took the offered seat. "I'd like to spend some time familiarizing myself with the fleet. I realize that this won't be primarily a Navy show, but you have certain capabilities we might rely on."

"Absolutely, sir," the admiral replied. "The way I see it, we'll be transporting the majority of the heavy equipment, despite featherweight charms and the like. As far as operations go, have you given any thought to retaking Azkaban? It does sit in the middle of the sea."

"I hadn't even begun to consider Azkaban," Harry allowed. "But you're right, we will need to secure it. I was hoping to use HMS Avalon up north, where 2 Wing can cover Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. I hadn't thought about plans for the other ships."

"With respect, sir," the admiral said carefully. "We have the advantage of being able to use RAF bases in the UK. The RAF can base our Tornadoes and Jaguars out of RAF Leuchars to cover Scotland. I doubt you'll be wanting to strike London with aircraft, due to the damage, but I assume you'll be targeting the west country?"

"We might have to," Harry replied, knowing that Malfoy Manor was in Wiltshire.

"In that case, aircraft can either fly out of RAF Brize Norton, or RAF Otterthorpe," the admiral stated. "RAF Otterthorpe would mean less logistics but longer flight times. In war, everything's a trade off."

"I'm surprised to hear you talking so much about the RAF," Harry observed.

"Avalon has a small military," Admiral Thompson replied. "The war we are currently engaged in is against an enemy which has no navy, no air force to speak of, and a rabble they call an army. The Navy's job is fairly straightforward: support the ground and air forces with logistical support. Our one combat operation is also straightforward: reduce Azkaban prison. The only question is whether you want it blotted from the map or suppressed in preparation for seizure. We can do both, but I assume that operation is months away, and there will be plenty of planning time for something that doesn't properly require it. It's more a matter of what we tell the gunners and pilots about where to fire their weapons and how many weapons to fire. The reason I'm focusing so heavily on the RAF is two-fold. First, we're on an aircraft carrier, whose primary weapon is provided by the RAF. Second, I need you to decide where to station the carrier, as that will affect operations related to Azkaban."

"OK," Harry agreed. "What will you need to keep the sea lanes open? It sounds like not much."

"The two patrol craft and a pair of destroyers will do nicely for that," the admiral replied. "The patrol craft can keep an eye on Port Arthur and wherever we decide to unload, while the destroyers can provide escort for the transports."

"And the rest of the ships?" Harry asked. Admiral Thompson took a moment, leaning forward and resting his chin momentarily on steepled hands.

"I'd like to create two task forces," he said, dropping his hands to the desk. "The first would be based around HMS Avalon, and consist of the Avalon, the amphibious ship Daring, the minesweeper Galahad and three destroyers. The second would be based around HMS King Arthur, and consist of the King Arthur, the cruisers Camelot and Dragon, and the last three destroyers. These task forces would work in concert to attack Azkaban."

Thompson pushed his chair back and stood. He walked over to where a large map hung on the wall. He pointed to a small dot on the map in the North Sea east of Scotland.

"Azkaban is here," he said. Harry rose and approached the map to see better. "I want to manoeuvre Task Force King Arthur south-west of the island, and begin bombardment. Then Task Force Avalon manoeuvrers. east of the island. For this operation, I'd like the SAS aboard the Daring. Once the bombardment has suppressed the enemy forces at Azkaban, the SAS boards the Chinooks of 16 Squadron, and the helicopters fly them in at wave-top level, depositing them atop the structure. They would then assault down into the prison, eliminating any remaining enemy forces."

"Who will command the task forces?" Harry asked, realizing the admiral probably had people in mind already.

"I'll command Task Force Avalon, while Rear Admiral Peter Young will command Task Force King Arthur," Thompson said. "He is my second-in-command. Commodore Lord Raymond Hughes will oversee the sealift vessels. The Commodore, the Duke of Cornwall, will have to be brought out of retirement, but he's well suited to the task. He fought in World War II, commanding destroyer escorts shepherding convoys across the Atlantic. His squadron accounted for three U-Boats during his time in command."

"It sounds like you've already thought this through quite a bit," Harry commented.

"A military at peace plans, and plans, and plans again," Admiral Thompson informed him.

"I like it," Harry said, nodding at the map. "We'll need to wait to commit until Voldemort's distracted, but this mission's a go. Call it Operation Royal Bill. I want a final write up by June first."

"Very good, sir," the admiral said with a smile. "Shall we join your aides and fly over to the King Arthur?"

So Harry followed Admiral Thompson down to the wardroom, which was, like the Admiral's quarters, richly decorated with wood panelling and naval knick-knacks. There, they collected Hermione, Neville, and Charlus. Tom had been activated with his brigade, and so couldn't be there.

Out on the flight deck, they loaded into a Westland Sea King HAR.4 search and rescue helicopter for the short flight over to HMS King Arthur. The ride was lower and much slower than the Phantom had been, and Harry was able to observe the fleet as it steamed leisurely through the Celtic Sea. All the ships were present save the patrol craft, which were guarding the mouth of the River Twyne, near HMNB Port Arthur, and Kettleburn Island with its base.

As he looked down, Harry was amazed at the ships. The Avalon was 245 meters long, and 52 meters wide. The King Arthur was almost 240 meters long and 32 meters wide. The Camelot was 175 meters long and 17 meters wide. The other ships were smaller (some not by much), but there were a lot of them: eight destroyers, the minesweeper, the landing ship, and the light cruiser. It made a very sizeable fleet to Harry's eyes.

The Sea King put down on the stern of the King Arthur, and Admiral Thompson led them past the solid rear turret with its three massive 406mm guns and into the ship. Inside, they met the ship's captain, and were led to the Action Information Centre where they were appraised of the capabilities of the ship. The ship's nine 406mm guns could fire more than 40 kilometres. with accuracy, despite the original versions of the weapon being able to fire only 32 kilometres. Each of the sixteen 133mm guns of the secondary armament could fire twelve shells a minute out to a range of 25 kilometres., packing a significant punch of their own. The original 40mm anti-aircraft guns had been replaced a few years earlier with four 20mm Phalanx anti-aircraft cannons and two Sea Dart surface to air missile launchers. The radar, radios, and other electronic systems were fully up to date, and functioned far better than their non-magical contemporaries.

The captain then led them up to the bridge. Admiral Thompson had remained below, talking to the fleet on the radio. Harry looked out, and saw that some of the Sea Kings had flown ahead and dropped bright orange boxes in the water nearly at the horizon. As he watched, the boxes grew to the size of ships and faded to slate grey. Harry could hear Admiral Thompson on the radio giving orders, but wasn't quite paying attention. The officer of the watch was, however.

"Execute!" came over the radio speaker, and the lieutenant commanded, "Left full rudder! Starboard engines ahead flank!" The ship heeled hard to starboard as the helmsman spun the ship's wheel and the rudder bit into the water and the starboard engines ramped up to full speed. Harry watched the entire fleet change onto a new bearing, the officer of the watch continuously checked the compass, watching as the ship came about. "Rudders amidships, all ahead three quarters!" the lieutenant called. The ship stopped its turn and righted itself. The lieutenant picked up a handset and conversed quietly with someone.

Outside the windows, the two forward turrets trained out over the starboard side of the ship. The guns elevated. Then there was a bright flash and a tremendous bang as the guns fired. The ship shook violently, and Harry grabbed for a wall as he blinked away spots. He looked out to see the guns venting smoke as they depressed back into loading position. He looked at what he realized were targets and saw moments later when one was obliterated by nine explosions.

"OK, that was seriously cool," Neville gushed, staring out the window. "Is it too late to change my commission to the Navy?"

"If that's what you want," Harry replied, grinning. "When we get back I can make you Sub-Leftenant Longbottom."

"As Ron would say, 'Wicked!'" Neville exclaimed.

"Do you want to switch too?" Harry asked Hermione.

"No thanks," she said, looking a little green. "I'll keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, if it's alright with you."

"Would you mind if I started training with the RAF?" Harry asked Hermione that night. They were out walking around the High Street hand in hand after seeing a film at the cinema. _The English Patient_ had been good. Hermione had seemed to like it.

"Why would I mind?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't be with you in Army training," he replied.

"Oh," she said.

"I mean, as King, I'd still get some Army training, and Navy training, come to that, but most of my training would be with the RAF," Harry clarified. Hermione was quiet for a moment, carefully formulating her reply.

"I suppose this isn't any different than you being on the quidditch team," she said finally.

"Actually, it'll be safer," Harry told her. "Anti-crash runes all over the aircraft."

"Anti-crash runes?" she asked, incredulous.

"You know: minimum altitude runes, that prevent you from contacting the ground unless you're in a landing pattern; anti-collision runes; airframe strengthening runes; g-force reduction runes, all those and more," he clarified.

"I'll miss you," she said, squeezing his hand.

"You'll see me before and after training," he replied. "I know we're suspending school until this is done, but we're still living at the castle."

"Will you start Monday?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "I have a day of classroom instruction in customs and courtesies, rank, organization, and the like; then I start flight training Tuesday."

"I can't believe you're sending me through Infantry training," Hermione scoffed. "I mean, really, I couldn't be Military Intelligence?"

"'Mione, you're a Gryffindor," Harry said. "You're a leader, out in front. You're already an infantrywoman. This is just giving you more training."

"'Mione?" she asked, giving him the side eye and a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, 'Mione," Harry grinned back. "Or would you prefer Herms?"

"I'd prefer neither," she parried. "But definitely not Herms unless you want your balls removed."

"You're my girlfriend, and I'm giving you a nickname," he said. "As nicknames go, I think 'Mione's quite good, actually."

"Fine," she huffed. He pulled her close and she leaned up against him. A streetcar rumbled by as they passed a pub. "What's going to happen?"

"What'd'you mean?" he asked.

"After the war?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "We'll see then. Finish school, I suppose, then uni. I've already got a job…"

"Will we ever go back to Britain?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "I do have property there. And I have to advise the Queen, and I'm sure I'll have some role in the government."

"I don't think you should," she said. "It's a massive conflict of interest for you. Not to mention a huge time commitment. You should be focusing on Avalon."

"You're right," Harry said. "I'll try to reduce my involvement. I don't think the Wizengamot's coming back, regardless. It caused this mess in the first place."

"Viva la Revolucion!" Hermione giggled.

"I'm no tin pot dictator," Harry huffed.

"No, but Voldemort is," she replied with a grin. "You are the dashing peasant boy leading the revolution against the corrupt dictator."

"Oh, so now I'm a peasant, am I?" Harry asked lightly.

"Humble beginnings, near poverty, cruel relatives," she listed. "I'd say that puts you in the running." He stopped and pulled her to him.

"I love you," he said, pulling her in for a kiss. He didn't give her time to reply.

"I love you, too," she said, beaming, when they'd parted. Harry smiled back.

"I hope you're part of my future too," he said, taking her hand again.

"Me, too," she agreed.

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It was a week before Harry even got to fly in an aircraft. The first day had indeed been an introduction to the RAF. What he hadn't understood was that the next day wouldn't see him in the air. Flight training began with days of classroom instruction. He learned the parts of the aircraft, the different control surfaces and what they did, the different instruments and controls, how the aircraft moved in the air, and how weather affected the aircraft.

When he finally did get in the air, it was in the right hand seat of a Scottish Aviation Bulldog T.1 elementary flight trainer. The instructor took off and flew to the training area. Then he relinquished the controls to Harry, and led him through a series of banks, turns, climbs, dives, and other basic manoeuvrers.

He knew his instruction was ridiculously accelerated. Once he'd begun flying, the Monday after beginning training, he averaged four hours per day in an aircraft. That Friday he practised taking off. The next week he was on landings, and at the end of the week, he was soloing.

By the middle of June, he was strapped into a BAe Hawk T.1 Basic Jet Trainer, learning how the jet engines made flying different. He reported his progress to Hermione and Neville daily, and received similar reports in kind. Even Luna, who was continuing her tutoring during the period, reported on what she was learning.

Hermione and Neville had each passed a month-long, very accelerated officer's training, and begun branch-specific instruction. Hermione was learning about various infantry and armoured weapons, tactics, and manoeuvring. Neville was out daily aboard HMS Twe, guarding the mouth of the River Twyne. Both their current instruction was more hands-on learning than what usual officers received. Hermione was learning her trade from Major Kevin Spencer, commanding Company C of the King's Guards. Neville was learning his trade from the very young Lieutenant Commander Lord James Pound, Earl of West Wales, commanding HMS Twe.

Meanwhile, Luna was focusing her studies on areas she was behind Harry and his other friends, as well as specializing in magical creatures. She'd taken several trips out to the preserve, and had also made many friends among the high elves in the Hynafol Vale. She was, in fact, becoming a useful ambassador from the crown to the high elf community. They liked her, and she, in turn, liked them.

At the end of June, Harry graduated to the Jaguar T.2A advanced fighter trainer. He had accumulated 120 hours of flying up to that time, and showed as much aptitude for it as he had for flying on a broom. His instructors considered him something of a prodigy. He was already familiar with some of the concepts from quidditch, and his natural ability in the air helped to shorten an already curtailed period of instruction.

By Harry and Neville's birthdays at the end of July, they'd completed more than two and a half months of training, and were on their way to becoming proficient officers in their chosen professions.

Harry and Hermione had also progressed slowly, but surely, in their relationship. The drag there was the watchful eye of her father. Living in the same castle provided some opportunities, but it also presented some unique obstacles to advancing physical affection. Most of their private moments were spent in his chambers or in the garden.

July 31, 1997, was to be a day off for Harry and his friends. Neville, who had been absent every other week due to patrolling duties, was home. Even Tom had taken time away from the Guards Brigade to spend the day with him. In fact, the guest list to Harry's seventeenth birthday party was practically identical to the party he'd thrown over Yule.

At breakfast that morning, Harry appeared and kissed Hermione, who was already sat down to breakfast. He ignored the look from her father, and sat next to her, moving bacon onto his plate. The door opened, and Neville and Tom walked in.

"This was waiting in the office," Tom said, handing a letter to Mr. Granger. "It's addressed to you." Harry glanced over. Mr. Granger hadn't received mail in about a year. It had taken that long to get his affairs in England cleared up. Mr. Granger opened the envelope. The paper inside was official stationary.

"Bloody Hell!" he shouted.

"Dear, language," his wife scolded. "What's got you excited?"

"I've been recalled to duty with the British Army," he said, shocked.

"Oh, dear," his wife said. "Does it say why?"

"I've been promoted to Major and assigned to the Military Attaché Group, Avalon," Mr. Granger replied. "I'm to report to the MoD at Whitehall tomorrow at nine."

"I wonder how many other parents of muggleborns were recalled," Hermione mused.

"Probably a fair few," Tom replied. "It makes sense to have them supervise, as that means fewer people need to be let in on the secret."

"I understand about magic, which is covered by the Statutes of Secrecy," Hermione said. "But how are you keeping Avalon a secret? Obviously Her Majesty's government is aware."

"Actually, for the most part, they're not," Charlus said, looking up from his eggs for the first time. "While the Royal family are aware of Avalon, as are the Prime Minister and the Defence Secretary, the remainder of the MoD are unaware. The Defence Secretary, while acknowledging magic, has portrayed the Avalonian Forces as not from an actual country, but rebel troops and international volunteers who have been outfitted with MoD cast-offs. In his cover story, Avalon is the ideal British magical nation, not an existing foreign land."

"That's brilliant," Hermione replied.

"Now I just have to get assigned to observe the King's Guards," Mr. Granger sighed.

"Dad, I'll not be serving with the King's Guards," Hermione countered. "It's just where I'm training right now. I was actually thinking of following the family tradition and becoming a para."

"You?" Harry asked incredulously. "You hate flying."

"No," she shot back, "I hate stomach-churning acrobatics, falling, crashing, and getting hurt."

"You've not parachuted before," Mr. Granger laughed.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Hermione said firmly. "Besides, I'm Harry's aide-de-camp, so I won't actually be serving on the front lines. I'll be advising Harry on all things Army. Just like Neville won't be spending most of his time aboard ship, but ashore with Harry."

"And I'm learning the RAF side myself," Harry added.

"Good for you," Mr. Granger said.

"I've my own family footsteps to follow in," Harry replied, looking pointedly at Charlus.

"Your grandfather was in the Army," Charlus replied.

"Yes, but I didn't know him," Harry said simply. "I know you."

"I'm flattered," Charlus said, breaking a small smile.

"I graduate flight school next week," Harry informed him. "I've carrier takeoffs and landings to go. I've been flying Phantoms for the past week in preparation."

"Most pilots don't go through Naval Aviation Training," Charlus observed. "Especially those who go through accelerated training."

"I've been told I have an aptitude for flying," Harry replied. "Either way, I didn't request it specifically."

"Then you must have an aptitude for it, else the instructors wouldn't have you doing it," Charlus said.

"How soon are we moving?" Tom asked, searching for intel, as he'd been away lately.

"August 31st," Harry said. "I don't want any kids there when we hit Hogwarts. Plus, it's a Sunday, so the Ministry should be quite empty."

"Diagon Alley?" Tom asked. He was somewhat out of the loop thanks to his active service.

"MI6 tells me it's a ghost town. Hogsmeade too," Harry replied. "Nobody's shopping under the new administration."

"What are people doing?" Tom asked.

"Getting arrested," Hermione snorted. "Whoever fled after the Battle of Hogwarts is gone. Their family members that stayed behind are being held hostage in Azkaban or were killed resisting arrest. The werewolves are all in Azkaban, even the ones who helped Voldemort a year ago. The vampires were smart enough to leave or go into hiding. No one's seen one since the fall of the Ministry."

"People are staying home behind their wards, and hoping that Voldemort and his lackeys don't notice them," Harry clarified. "Those who can have fled to the mainland. There's a fairly large British expat community built up around Madam Bones near Beauxbatons."

"Sounds like most of the innocents will be out of the way, then," Tom observed.

"Sunday the thirty-first gives us another month to prepare, while ensuring that both the largest targets will be empty of non-combatants," Harry agreed.

"Enough business," Hermione said, brightening. "Someone's got a birthday to celebrate!"

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Seventeen didn't feel older than sixteen to Harry. There was no material difference. His existence just continued as it always had. The party was nice, though. He got to catch up with old acquaintances he hadn't seen for some time.

"You're flying planes?" Tracey gaped.

"Fighters," Harry confirmed.

"That's so cool!" Tracey gushed.

"Calm down," Justin said from her side. "You do know far fewer people can fly brooms than can fly aeroplanes, right?"

"But I don't know anyone who flies planes," Tracey shot back. "I know tons of people who fly brooms. Plus, planes are faster."

"I'm surprised that was your takeaway from my recap of the last few months," Harry chuckled.

"Why?" Tracey asked. "That was the only news."

"I did mention I was dating Hermione," Harry reminded her.

"Weren't you already dating Hermione?" Tracey asked, confused.

"No," Harry said with a shake. "We were just friends."

"Oh, then… congratulations," Tracey said as Hermione wandered over from another conversation. She wrapped her arm around Harry and gave him a squeeze.

"Hey guys," she said.

"Harry was just telling us you guys are together now," Tracey said.

"Yes," she smirked at him. "He asked me right before we met the Queen of England."

"What?" Justin asked.

"We were sitting in Buckingham Palace, and the berk asked me to go out with him. I'd just said yes when the Queen walked in," Hermione revealed.

"What timing," Justin said.

"I was trying to distract her, because she was nervous," Harry said, defending himself. "It worked, too. And I'm very happy now." He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"How are things with you?" Hermione asked, redirecting the conversation.

"Well, we're just about up to where we should be academically," Justin said. "We've been doing school during summer hols to catch up."

"It's a right nightmare," Tracey complained. "I mean, all we do is school."

"It's not Avalon's fault it has better schools than the rest of the magical world," Hermione observed.

"Oh lay off," Tracey said, but not unkindly. "You probably love it."

"I'm not in school now," she replied. "I'm in Army training."

"You're in the Army?" Tracey asked, shocked.

"Second Leftenant Granger, Headquarters Company, The Parachute Regiment, Royal Army, at your service," she replied with a grin. "That was confirmed just this morning. Once I'm done training, I'll be seconded to the Ministry of Defence to serve as an aide-de-camp to Harry."

"What's the Parachute Regiment?" Justin asked.

"Airborne infantry," Hermione answered. "The soldiers jump out of aeroplanes and land with parachutes, then engage the enemy in close combat. We can also be transported in helicopters, or move on foot or by lorry."

"Are Neville and Luna with you too?" Tracey asked, knowing the four friends lived in the castle together.

"You mean Sub-Leftenant Longbottom, Royal Navy?" Hermione asked with a grin. "Yes, he'll be an aide-de-camp as well later this month. Luna's continuing her academic studies."

"How come you guys got to join the Army?" Justin asked. "I'd love to go shove a wand up Voldemort's arse."

"I pulled some strings," Harry admitted. "Are you seventeen yet?"

"I turn seventeen in two weeks," Justin told him.

"You can enlist at seventeen," Harry said. "Though you wouldn't be done with training in time to fight, probably."

"I want to help," Justin reiterated.

"Then learn all you can," Harry said simply. "Gain as much knowledge as you can and then go back to Britain and help make it a better place. Neville will be going back too, sad as I am to see him go."

"I'm staying here," Hermione added.

"Of course you are," Tracey said, rolling her eyes. "Though I must say, everyone's so nice here. There's none of the prejudice that muggleborns or muggles face in British society. My parents actually want to stay."

"That's great!" Harry said, beaming. "I was hoping some people would."

"I'd say it's split about even," Justin replied. "My mum talks to lots of people. The older muggleborns want to go back, especially if they've families. The younger muggleborns want to stay, as they disliked the prejudice they faced back home. Plus, their parents and siblings are accepted here, like Tracey said, which makes it easier. The elevens and below don't know any different. They're looking to stay almost en masse."

"I can't blame people for wanting to get back to their lives," Harry acceded. "But I'm glad people like what they see here. Now that so many muggleborns are in on the secret of Avalon, I must say it'll make trading with Magical Britain easier."

"I was thinking of starting an import-export business to get shielded electronics into British homes," Justin said. "Once I'm done with uni, that is."

"Good to hear you won't be leaving immediately," Harry said with a smile.

"My parents will, I won't," Justin confirmed. "You wouldn't know how soon they'll be able to head back, would you?"

"That's a military secret," Harry replied. "Besides, we have to win first."

"We'll win," Hermione said.

"You're pretty sure of that," Tracey observed.

"One thing the military drills into your head is never to give the enemy a fair fight," Harry said. "If you have the capability to destroy the enemy in a minute with no friendlies dead, and you take a year and ten thousand friendly casualties in order to keep the enemy's losses low, you're doing it wrong. The whole thing should be over in a blink and be anti-climactic."

"So no one-on-one fight with Voldemort?" Tracey asked. "No epic battle of wits? No spectacle?"

"Oh, there'll be a spectacle," Harry said. "Anyone who's seen HMS King Arthur fire a full broadside will attest to that. But it will be a spectacle of explosions, not a spectacle of magical talent. Here, magic's a tool we use to improve mundane weapons, which can be effective at much greater distances than magic wands."

"But what about apparition and portkeys?" Tracey asked. "The enemy can close the distance quickly."

"I'm not giving away all our secrets today," Harry said with a sly smile. "Let's just say, that won't be an issue."

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Harry was standing in a research laboratory run by the Ministry of Education. It was in a remote wooded valley in the north-west of Avalon. The lab wasn't secret, but it was in an out-of-the-way place for safety. Sometimes things being researched exploded.

"Harry, this is Dr. Emily Walker," Charlus introduced the woman standing in front of him in a lab theatre. "She replaced Dr. Kenner. Her team has continued working on the horcruxes."

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Dr. Walker said with a smile. "I know you had a good rapport with Dr. Kenner, and I hope to maintain that working relationship. What we do here is vital, as you well know. I think you'll be pleased with what I have to show you." Harry nodded politely. He was missing a day's flying instruction for this, and he hoped it was worth it.

"We've been studying the two horcruxes we have: Hufflepuff's Cup, and Slytherin's Locket," Dr. Walker explained. She pointed to the two items, which were stored in a lab room behind thick glass. "Late last year, as you know, we succeeded in making a pair of horcrux locating devices. These devices were used to locate the two artefacts stored here. Our subsequent study of the horcruxes and souls in general has led down some very exciting paths, only one of which is of interest to us today. That path resulted in the destruction of the horcrux in Hufflepuff's Cup back in April."

"It's gone?" Harry asked in astonishment. It didn't look different than he remembered.

"It isn't a horcrux anymore," Dr. Walker agreed. "We've been studying the empty artefact to see what residual magic was left behind. The answer is: very little."

"How did you do it?" Harry asked, meaning the destruction of the horcrux.

"We experimented with several types of potions, eventually settling on one that incorporates the compound lysergic acid diethylamide, better known as LSD, Chizpurfle Carapace, Fluxweed, Unicorn Horn, and several other minor ingredients," Dr. Walker explained. "The potion acts to dislodge the horcrux, however it doesn't fully remove it."

"But you've removed the horcrux from the cup," Harry pointed out.

"Yes," Dr. Walker said. "In our study of soul magic, we developed several spells which can manipulate soul pieces."

"Manipulate how?" Harry asked.

"Force them to move at our whim," Dr. Walker replied. "We were able to physically remove the horcrux from the cup and transfer it to a golf ball and back again several times. Eventually, we transferred the horcrux permanently and destroyed it."

"Does it work when the horcrux is in a living thing?" Harry asked.

"Testing indicates it does," Dr. Walker said. "We obtained a rabbit, which we moved the horcrux into. We left it a day, and then removed the horcrux after studying its effects on the rabbit. The rabbit seemed fine, if a bit disoriented for a few days."

"Why was it disoriented?" Harry wanted to know.

"The potion, when used on living things, causes hallucinations, and other temporary mental side effects in the host," Dr. Walker said carefully. "The hallucinations end after a few hours, but some disorientation remains. We did test the potion on ourselves to ensure it was safe for human consumption before we used it on the rabbit."

"Can you destroy the horcrux in Slytherin's locket now?" Harry asked. Dr. Walker nodded.

"It'll take a few moments to set up, sir," she said. "If you'd like to take a seat." She motioned to the chairs in the theatre. Harry and Charlus sat.

"I really don't want to be out of action for a few days," Harry said, sighing.

"Your flight training won't suffer too much," Charlus said. "Besides, it's really just for fun."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked. "I'm planning on flying during the war."

"You won't," Charlus cautioned. "Your place is in the command centre running operations, being the commander of the entire military, not flying missions. We've any number of pilots to do that, and the flying itself won't be technically challenging in the least. Voldemort's not got any air defence assets, nor an air force greater than a few morons on brooms. It won't be any more exciting for the pilots than a milk run. The Jerrys were much better sport, I must say."

"But…" sputtered Harry.

"Besides, you're largely done with flight training, now that you're carrier qualified," Charlus continued. "Most of the rest can be accomplished on the ground. It's tactical and leadership instruction. You've already got many of the basic concepts there, as well. This may well end up being just the sort of rest you need before the strain of continuous combat operations hits. Never begin a campaign tired, because you'll end up dead. Start a campaign fresh, and end it exhausted, but alive."

"I guess I thought…" Harry trailed off.

"What... you thought you'd be the one to drop the bomb on Voldemort's head?" Charlus laughed. "Albus really had you going about that prophecy, didn't he? Do you remember what it said?"

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," Harry recited, having memorized it. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies; and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not; and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

"What do you think it means?" Charlus asked.

"It means I have to defeat Voldemort," Harry said, adding, "and I alone have the power to do it."

"Let's focus on some key phrases," Charlus said. "First, what do you think the power he knows not is?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "Maybe, because I'm a pilot?"

"Here's what I think," Charlus revealed. "I think the power he knows not is the military of Avalon. Right now Voldemort thinks he's in charge of Magical Britain. He has no idea that he's only in charge of it because you let him be in charge of it.

"As far as either must die at the hands of the other…" Charlus said, leaving the rest unspoken. "Die at the hands of the other… Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore would interpret that as single combat, man to man. I take a wider view. People kill using weapons, correct?"

"Yes," Harry agreed.

"So if you used a wand to kill Voldemort, would that be by your hand?" Charlus asked. Harry nodded. "What if you used a gun?" Again, Harry nodded. "What if you used a fighter jet?" Harry kept nodding. "So you agree that using a controller to point an inanimate object at someone and launch another inanimate object at someone qualifies as by your hand. What if you directed another person to use their wand to kill?" Harry didn't nod, but considered what Charlus had proposed. "Is that truly different from directing an inanimate object to kill?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I mean, I think there's a line between people and objects."

"Is there?" Charlus asked. "Either way, you directed someone's death."

"I suppose," Harry allowed.

"What about an army?" Charlus asked. "What if you directed an army to kill?"

"I guess one might make the case that that was by my hand," Harry agreed. "So long as you accept that there's no line between directing an object and a person to kill."

"I think you can fulfil the prophecy simply by directing the military to kill Voldemort," Charlus said simply. "After all, you didn't destroy all the horcruxes yourself, did you? Aren't they a part of Voldemort?"

"I didn't ask or tell Professor Dumbledore to destroy the ring horcrux," Harry mused. "How does that fit into the prophecy?"

"Albus knew you were prophesied to kill Voldemort, and acted on the assumption that you didn't want to die," Charlus reasoned. "He acted on orders you would've given had you been on scene to give them. In essence, he acted in absente reo… in the absence of the accused."

"That's a very convenient explanation," Harry accused.

"Harry," Charlus said, sighing. "What do you want? Prophecies are horrible things. We can parse the wordings and meanings for eternity, always second guessing ourselves. I've given you my interpretation, and I think it's the right one. Don't trouble yourself overmuch about it."

Harry thought about that as Dr. Walker and another person entered the lab room in protective suits. She placed a golf ball on a stand near the locket.

"Sir, we're about to begin," Dr. Walker said through the intercom Harry hadn't noticed before.

"We're recording," the assistant, a man, said to Dr. Walker. He turned from the computer and retrieved a beaker of potion from a cabinet.

"Experiment HL-126. The date is August 11, 1997. The time is 10:12 in the morning. Present are myself and Dr. Morton. Observing are His Majesty, King Harry, and His Royal Highness, Prince Charlus. The goal of this experiment is to remove the horcrux from the locket into a golf ball, and then destroy the horcrux. First, we'll apply the potion to the locket." The assistant moved forward with the beaker of potion while Dr. Walker brandished her wand.

"I'm applying the potion," Dr. Morton said. He carefully poured the potion over the locket, using the entire beaker, and ensuring full coverage of the exposed parts of the locket. As the locket was covered, the locket began vibrating and a ghost image of the locket was superimposed over the actual artefact. The ghost image's edges went fuzzy and started stretching like distortion on the telly.

"The horcrux has been affected as before," Dr. Morton stated for the record. He returned the beaker to a nearby shelf, and turned back to the locket. He leaned closer as the vibrations peaked. "The horcrux has achieved peak neurological disruption." He turned away again, retrieving a golden vial from the cabinet.

"I will now attempt to transfer the soul shard to the golf ball," Dr. Walker said. She began casting in a stream of what Harry thought was Greek. A pure white strand of magic flew from her wand and connected with the locket. She pulled the vibrating ghost image away from the locket using the magical tether she'd cast. Once the soul had completely separated from the locket, the image shifted to a black void. When she directed it into the golf ball the image shifted again, to a distorted golf ball. She released the spell and the magical tether dissipated. The golf ball began vibrating with the hallucinating soul shard. "Transfer complete," Dr. Walker reported. "The soul shard is now housed in the golf ball and is acting normally. Vibration from the host and soul distortion are both present."

Dr. Morton again approached the horcrux. He pulled the stopper off the golden vial.

"I will now administer the basilisk venom," Dr. Morton said. He held the vial's opening just over the golf ball, and tipped it. Black venom poured out, coating the golf ball. The ball shrieked, and the vibrating increased. The soul shot out of the ball, hovering momentarily over it, before emitting a final, ear-splitting shriek and exploding into nothingness.

"The venom has coated the ball, and the soul dissipated," Dr. Morton stated. Dr. Walker cast a detection spell on the ball.

"The horcrux has been destroyed," she reported. "This concludes test HL-126." Dr. Morton went to the computer and stopped the recording.

Harry walked up to the intercom on the wall. He pressed the button.

"Now do me," he said.

—

Thirty minutes later, Harry lay on a table in a different lab room. He was wearing the same slate grey trousers and medium blue buttondown he'd come in with. Dr. Watson and Dr. Morton were both present. Dr. Morton began recording at the computer.

"Experiment HH-32. The date is August 11, 1997. The time is 10:57 in the morning. Present are myself, Dr. Morton, and the subject, His Majesty, King Harry. Observing is His Royal Highness, Prince Charlus. The goal of this experiment is to remove the horcrux from His Majesty into a golf ball, and then destroy the golf ball. Dr. Morton, please provide the potion to His Majesty."

Harry had undergone several medical tests and experiments before, regarding his horcrux—31 previous experiments, to be precise, though he hadn't been counting. Most of those had been done with Dr. Jared Kenner, but Kenner had moved on to a prestigious professorship at the Royal University about three months earlier. Harry had been too busy to continue the experiments, and with the procurement of the other horcruxes, such testing had been rendered unnecessary.

"If you'll drink this please, sir," Dr. Morton said, handing him the potion. It was fluorescent green with small sparkly bits in it. Harry propped himself up on one elbow and sniffed the contents. It gave off no detectable aroma. He shrugged and gulped the potion down. The potion was flavourless, like purified water, but it had a slimy consistency that coated his mouth and tongue, like phlegm. He nearly gagged as it slid down his throat. Dr. Morton took the beaker back. "Lay back, please, sir," Dr. Morton said. "It'll go easier."

Harry nodded, accepting the instructions, but when he stopped, Dr. Morton kept bobbing up and down. His pale blue protective suit began sliding sideways across the room. Harry blinked, and Dr. Morton had eight heads. His eyes swam and his thoughts drifted. There was no pain. Colours swirled before him: electric blue, neon green, brilliant royal purple, candy apple red. He lost sense of time and space and just drifted through the colours, afloat on nothingness. It was peaceful, dreamy. He realized he was exhausted, so he closed his eyes and slept.

xxxxxxx  
scene break  
xxxxxxx

When Harry awoke, it was dark. He was lying in a bed with hospital sheets. In the dim light flooding under the door, he could make out the plain white walls and boring industrial furniture the room contained. The bed was a hospital bed.

He tried to get up, but the world swam, and he fell back onto the pillow. When that failed, he tried to call out, but it felt like his mouth was stuffed with cotton and his tongue had grown to twice its normal size. It appeared he was stuck in bed.

Just when he'd exhausted all hope of leaving the room, the door opened. Dr. Walker entered with Charlus, and she turned up the lights slowly.

"I see you're awake, sir," she said with a smile. Harry attempted to reply, but couldn't. Dr. Walker passed him a bottle of water with a straw protruding from it. "Sip this," she directed. "It should help with the dry mouth." Harry did as instructed. His tongue moved much more easily in his mouth after the first sip. "Now. How do you feel?"

"I can't get up," Harry reported. "My mouth was dry."

"That's usual," Dr. Walker informed him. "You should be able to stand and walk in a few hours." She ran a wand over him and consulted with the report it provided. "The horcrux was removed and destroyed. There's no trace of it in your head."

"Thank God for that," Harry sighed with relief. "Now there's only two left."

"Please don't repeat that," Charlus requested of Dr. Walker. "The number of horcruxes was classified under the state secret act." She nodded, and went back to her diagnostic tests.

"While your motor function should be returning in your legs and arms within a few hours, and your sense of balance should return around the same time, I'd ask that you refrain from operating machinery or undertaking strenuous activity for at least two days while the potion makes its way out of your body," Dr. Walker instructed. "If you need assistance in the meantime, please use the cord in the wall by your head to call a nurse. Would you like me to put on the telly before I go, sir?"

"No, thank you," Charlus replied for Harry. Dr. Walker merely nodded and left. "There's still work to be done," he continued once the door had closed. "You're in your right mind, are you not?"

"I think so," Harry replied.

"Good," Charlus said, taking a seat in one of the few chairs in the room. "Tomorrow you'll be meeting with the commanders of the British and Irish Military Observer groups. That meeting's scheduled for nine in the morning."

"What time is it?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Half seven in the evening," Charlus replied.

"What day?" Harry asked, still confused.

"The eleventh," Charlus replied simply. "You were only out for a few hours."

"More than six!" Harry countered.

"Are you done?" Charlus asked. "We've work."

"Fine," Harry harrumphed, and settled back into the pillows to listen to what Charlus had to say.

xxxxxxx  
scene break  
xxxxxxx

The next morning Harry was dressed in Army Number 2 Service Dress bearing the rank of Field Marshal. He entered the theatre in the Ministry of Defence building with Charlus and the Duke of Avalon, and saw it was full. There were over seventy-five officers seated in the rows before the podium. Harry walked to the podium looking out over the assembled masses. He picked out the different uniforms of the British and Irish militaries. It was fairly easy, as they were sitting in groups. He noted that all branches were present. The Queen and the President meant it when they said they wanted to know what was going on.

He spotted Dan Granger, in a parachute officer's uniform in the second row and smiled. Harry didn't need to glance at his notes to know Major Granger was being assigned to observe the Parachute Regiment. Major Granger, and several other parents of muggleborns had been absent from Avalon for a few weeks as they'd been reacquainted with the service. Perhaps a third of the officers present had been living in Avalon for the past year, and had been recalled to service because of their unique situation. The remaining soldiers, sailors, and airmen were already in on the secret of magic. Many of them had been for some time. Harry paused his thoughts as he reached the podium. He cleared his throat and began.

"Welcome to Avalon, gentlemen," Harry began. "I'm Harry, King of Avalon, and I'm glad you're here. Together, Avalon, Britain, and Ireland will bring the renegade government of Magical Britain to heel.

"You all will serve a vital purpose in the coming weeks and months, both as observers, studying our capabilities and flaws, and as liaisons with your respective militaries and civil governments," Harry continued. "I hope that this will be a mutually beneficial relationship for all concerned. We will endeavour to protect you, and I hope you'll in turn, be free with your advice and assistance when it comes to navigating the terrain and bureaucracy of the British Isles.

"To announce your assignments, I'd like to introduce General Lord Richard Quincy, Chief of Staff," Harry announced, ceding the floor. Harry sat in one of the chairs on the stage after the Duke of Avalon took the podium. As the duke began reading assignments off the list, Harry was again lost in thought.

Each regiment would have a major assigned from the British Army, and those slated to operate in Ireland would have a commandant assigned from the Irish Army as well. Each brigade would have a lieutenant colonel observing, a colonel was assigned at the division level, and Army headquarters had a brigadier. The RAF squadrons would have squadron leaders and commandants as observers, while groups would have wing commanders and lieutenant colonels, with a group captain at RAF headquarters. The Royal Navy would have officers assigned at one rank below the ship's captain, with a captain assigned to each task force and a commodore assigned to Royal Navy headquarters. Every officer would have an enlisted assistant, usually a sergeant of some sort, though they weren't present for this meeting. The entire British observer corps was headed by an Army major-general. The Irish observer corps was headed by a brigadier-general.

"Now that you've got your assignments, you can proceed through the doors to your left to be introduced to your units' commanders," the duke said. "Good day." The room descended into noise as the assembled men rose and headed for the doors. Small conversations abounded.

Harry stood, and walked to the stairs at stage right, joining the duke and Charlus, who had dusted off his old RAF uniform, which bore the rank of Air Vice Marshal for the occasion. The duke led them into the other room, and introduced Harry to Major General Thomas Kirkland, a thin red-faced balding man in his mid-fifties. He was also introduced to Brigadier-General Pierce Redmond, a stout man with short brown hair in his early fifties.

"Generals," Harry said, "I hope we can build a good working relationship, and that you get along tolerably well with General Quincy."

"Your Majesty, I don't think that will be a problem for me," Major General Kirkland said. "My son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter have a home in the Little Britain neighbourhood of Port Arthur. I very much have a dog in this fight. Thank you for the hospitality you've shown my family."

"Is your son magical, General?" Harry asked.

"No, my granddaughter, sir," Kirkland replied. "She's two. My son had no idea until your people came along and let him in on the secret. After being advised of the trouble brewing in Magical Britain, he and his wife were more than happy to accept the offer of refuge."

"And you, General Redmond?" Harry asked, bringing the Irishman into the conversation.

"My daughter's a witch," he said. "She graduated from Hogwarts about five years ago. She and her husband moved here. I would've come, but I was assigned to UNIFIL in Lebanon at the time she was evacuated."

"What house was she?" Harry asked.

"Ravenclaw," General Redmond replied. "She's smart as a whip."

"I assume you've both been briefed by General Quincy?" Harry asked, changing subjects. They both made noises to the affirmative. "Good. We'll be moving to Horse Guards in London in a week to begin preparations. Once the war begins, I'll be making tours to ensure that things are going to plan. You'll have the option of following me on those tours, or remaining behind with General Quincy to help run the show." The two generals nodded their acceptance. "If you have any questions, get word to General Quincy, and we'll try to get you answers quickly. Any questions of me right now?"

"How many Avalonian forces do you anticipate operating in the Republic?" Redmond asked.

"No more than a brigade," Harry replied. "Probably the Armoured Brigade. If it's alright with the Department of Defence, we'll base them at the Glen of Imaal while they're in Ireland. It's out of the way enough. We're not planning on going into Ireland during the first phase of operations."

"What is the first phase of operations?" General Kirkland asked.

"The Guards Brigade seizes Hogwarts and Hogsmeade," Harry explained. "At the same time The Airborne Brigade takes the Ministry, Diagon Alley and St. Mungos, and the Armoured Brigade overruns known Death Eater homes in the West Country. Also, the SAS will capture Azkaban.

"Phase two will have the Airborne Brigade conducting operations in the West Midlands and Wales," Harry continued. "While the Guards Brigade conducts operations in the North of England and the East Midlands. The Armoured Brigade will push east to the South-east and East of England. The SAS will conduct operations in Scotland.

"Phase three is still up in the air," Harry allowed. "The Armoured Brigade will probably end up in Ireland, and those are the units your men have been assigned to," he explained to General Redmond. "The Airborne Brigade will probably move into Scotland to clean up there, while the Guards Brigade will move into Southern England and keep the peace there.

"During all phases, we'll be using RAF Brize Norton in England, RAF Lossiemouth in Scotland, and Casement Aerodrome in Ireland," Harry concluded. "We'll be bringing equipment ashore at Devonport. That starts next week."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: In Deadly Earnest**

 **Harry—6 AM, August 31, 1997**

Harry pulled back on the throttle of the Tornado GR.1 and wished it into the sky. The aircraft was overloaded with ordnance despite the magical modifications. Each pylon carried what looked like a drop tank to mundane eyes. The front wheel rotated up as the fighter accelerated, and finally, to Harry's great relief, the back wheels left the ground as well.

Harry banked his Tornado to follow the previous aircraft, and join the growing formation of fighters from 3 Squadron.

"How're we looking?" he asked his back seater.

"All systems reading normal," Flight Officer Chris Young reported. They had never worked together before. Indeed, this was Harry's first flight with an operational unit. When he'd heard that one of the squadron's pilots had come down with Dragon Pox, he'd insisted on taking the man's place.

"I can't not go," Harry had said to Charlus. "I need to lead. They need to see me out there." And so he'd gone. It had all been worked out in advance. Harry had remained at Horse Guards looking over the maps until five that morning, at which point he'd taken a portkey to RAF Lossiemouth.

Harry eased the fighter into the formation as it circled, waiting for all twelve Tornadoes to join. He looked back to his left and right rear, noting his wingmen's presence and nodded to himself. He nervously rechecked his gauges and control settings.

On the squadron commander's word, the squadron split into four three ship vics and dropped to the deck. The squadron commander let out his throttle and every other plane followed suit. Harry was leading the last vic. The rest of the squadron was in column before him. The sight was inspiring.

It was only one hundred twenty kilometres. to Hogwarts in the highlands from Lossiemouth. Avalon's Tornadoes could cover that distance in the span of about four minutes, but the plan was to go low and slow. Instead, it would take them eight minutes to get into attack positions.

The minutes ticked past and the Tornadoes kept close to the ground. They entered the highlands, thundering up valleys and over lochs, only popping up to crest ridges as they made their way west.

"One minute to the initial point," the squadron commander's voice said over the radio. Harry did another quick check of his cockpit instruments. "Thirty seconds."

"Open the pods," Harry instructed over the intercom. In the back, Flight Officer Young flipped the switch that opened the weapon bay doors, and what had appeared to be drop tanks were revealed to be weapon stowage pods modified with space expansion runes.

"Initial Point," came the squadron commander over the radio. "Attack Plan Alpha."

"Red Section, Break left," Harry said over the radio. His vic peeled off and circled. Ahead, the squadron commander's section spread out into line abreast and roared over Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Each of the three Tornadoes on line dropped unguided devices that looked like large darts. Harry knew they were portable rune stones that erected anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards separate from those already extant, and controlled by no one. The rune stones passed harmlessly through the wards as the jets streaked overhead, waking everyone below.

Harry's section continued circling as the next section began their attack run. They dropped magical bombs. The bombs exploded in bursts of magic that snapped the golden dome of Hogwarts' wards in place over the castle. Once active, the wards could be destroyed.

That was the job of the next section, who flew higher, and dropped a dozen large conventional bombs on the wards. The bombs exploded, shattering the wards by overpowering them with chemical and kinetic energy.

"Red Section, tally ho!" Harry called, lining his Tornado up for his attack run. "Illuminate!" he instructed Flight Officer Young. Young flipped a switch that turned on the laser designator. Their target were the doors of the castle. The other fighters would target other parts of the fortifications, and took up positions in line to his rear.

His section had been flying low in the valley adjacent to the one Hogwarts was in, maintaining station at the initial point. When they crested the ridge following the attack route, he saw something they hadn't expected. There were half a dozen giants on the front lawn. Harry saw them and pulled up reflexively, adding thrust and shooting skyward.

"Red Section, Target the giants," he ordered over the radio.

"I'm on the one in front of the door," Young reported from the back.

"Do it!" Harry nearly shouted.

"Bomb's away," Young said calmly from the back.

Harry banked the aircraft hard left and missed the bomb follow the laser beam into its target. The giant didn't have a chance as the 2,000 pound Paveway III slammed into its chest, right on target. In a flash of light and cloud of black smoke the giant disappeared. To other giants met similar fates in the next few seconds.

"Where'd they come from?" Harry asked over the radio.

"They were hiding behind the castle when I made my run," the squadron leader advised. "The rest of the sections didn't see them because of the wards."

"Nice surprise," Harry commented ruefully.

It took nearly thirty seconds for Harry's section to turn back onto a new attack run. In that time, the smoke cleared, revealing all that was left of the first casualties of the war: their feet, hands, heads, and barrels worth of gore. The other giants recoiled in horror, but not fast enough to escape the same fate as their comrades.

The next pass went much smoother for Harry. They dropped the second round of Paveways from a greater height, and with less immediacy. The last three giants died the same as Harry circled around for a third pass, a volley of thundrous explosions echoing up and down the valley in their wake.

As he lined up for his only scheduled attack run, he could make out the Challenger tanks of the Royal Horse Guards Regiment entering Hogsmeade to his right front. Infantrymen poured through the streets. There were some flashes of spell fire, but not many, as the Guards Brigade began clearing Hogsmeade in order to continue their advance towards the castle.

"Illuminate!" Harry called.

"I've got the door," Young replied from the back.

"Drop," Harry ordered.

"Bomb's away," Young confirmed.

As the fighter passed over the castle, Harry could make out several men standing on the ramparts, looking up at his plane. He couldn't see where the bomb hit, but he knew it would be on the door. After overflying the castle, Harry's flight turned back. He wanted to do a gun run on the enemy forces on the ramparts.

Harry looked back as the last Tornado passed overhead. He watched as spell fire reached up and hit the plane. Though it didn't damage the Tornado, it did knock it off course, and the fighter clipped one of the towers. Harry watched in horror as the fighter began spiralling, and the pilot attempted to pull up to avoid a mountain. He wouldn't make it in time, and he knew it. The canopy blew off, and two ejector seats rocketed clear of the stricken fighter just in time. The plane exploded on impact, with dozens of secondary blasts as various munitions detonated from the heat.

Harry pulled his eyes from the explosion, looking for the parachutes of the pilot and weapon officer. They were drifting down over the castle itself. Spell fire lashed up at them from the ramparts. Harry boiled with rage. Those men were defenceless, and couldn't portkey away thanks to the portable rune stones.

Without announcing his intentions, Harry flipped to guns, and pulled hard left, lining up on the castle. He identified the source of the spell fire, pulled back on the throttle, and adjusted onto his target.

"Gun!" he announced as he pulled the trigger. The fighter bucked slightly as the cannon barked. A stream of tracers blazed ahead, impacting around his aim point and exploding. The rampart was obscured by dust and smoke and explosions, but the spell fire stopped. Harry roared over the castle, banking to look down at the target, making sure to avoid the descending parachutes. The rampart was ruined, and there was no sign of the enemy.

"This is Red Leader," Harry reported over the radio. "Red Three is down. Parachutes are heading for the castle. Red Section tally is six giants, and between one and three magicals. Doors are open."

"Copy Red Leader," the squadron commander acknowledged. "I'll pass along to the Guards to be on the lookout for our boys. 3 Squadron, proceed to Objective Bruce." Harry acknowledged the instruction. Objective Bruce was a secondary objective in northern Scotland, a manor belonging to the Carrows, known Death Eaters, and a possible hideout for Voldemort.

 **Neville—6 AM, August 31, 1997**

Newly promoted Lieutenant Neville Longbottom stood on the bridge of HMS King Arthur as she cut through the seas south-east of Azkaban Prison. When Harry had weaselled his way into a flying opportunity, Neville had insisted on accompanying the Navy to Azkaban. He'd been given carte blanche by Harry to do whatever he wanted. He subconsciously patted the pocket that held those royal orders, and stared into the gloom.

It was still dark, though the eastern sky was losing its stars. It was what weathermen called morning nautical twilight. Azkaban was faintly distant on the horizon about five miles away. Neville glanced at his watch: 6 AM. The ship had been at action stations for the last fifteen minutes, and it and the other ships of Task Force King Arthur had formed what Nelson would've called a line of battle.

A series of roars, blending into one massive roar, passed overhead. It was the naval aviation squadrons from HMS Avalon: Phantom F.3 fighters and Buccaneer S.2D strike planes. They'd launched outside visual range, then flew west before turning north and passing over Task Force King Arthur. There they'd met two Hercules C.3 transport planes from 14 Squadron, who'd left Lossiemouth about thirty minutes before. Together, those twenty-eight planes made up the strike package for Azkaban.

Neville looked out the windows and saw the glowing jet engines of the smaller planes. He used his magically enhanced binoculars to scan the island again. It was a dark scar on the water at this hour; the cliffs barely visible, the buildings blended in to the rock.

The planes crossed the five miles to Azkaban in no time. The Phantoms went first dropping rune stones to create temporary anti-travel wards, and magical bombs to disrupt the defensive wards. It wouldn't do for some of the enemy to escape. They weren't expecting more than a token force aside from the dementors. Most of the prisoners had joined Voldemort, after all. Well, the criminal prisoners, anyway. There were the political prisoners to worry about, but they'd be far below the surface in the cells.

Next, the Buccaneers dropped heavy bombs that overpowered the island's magical defences, and let the main show arrive. That came in the form of the two Hercules. They were carrying two BLU-82 Daisy Cutter bombs each. As they passed over the island, drogue chutes pulled the bombs from the open cargo bays of the Hercules', and they separated, and hurtled towards the ground. Two of them hit the island, with a third slamming into the rock face of the cliff, and the fourth detonating in the air from the explosions.

The entire island disappeared beneath a wall of flame. Neville had seen film footage of a nuclear blast, and he wondered if maybe the RAF had dropped the wrong bombs. The he realized that these bombs had contained an extra, magical element. Those blasts were a type of fiendfyre. Through the binoculars, he could see dragon heads in the flames as they curled around the cliffs and buildings. Little blips of darkness, the telltale cloaks of the dementors were incinerated in the flames. Apparently, dementors could be killed. All it took was fire… lots and lots of fire. It made sense, fire was the ultimate light, and dementors were the ultimate dark. Love-powered light might have driven them away, but fire-powered light killed them.

When the flames died down, Neville was forced to blink away the spots. He lowered the binoculars as the sound hit, a rolling wave of thunder much louder than the bombs from the Buccaneers. The final coup de grace from the RAF was when a section of Phantoms flew back over the island dropping flares to illuminate the island for the Navy.

Neville didn't have to wait long. The battleship's big guns almost immediately slewed out over the ship's starboard side, the middle barrel of the forward-most turret elevating. With a flash and a roar of thunder, the ranging shot was on its way. Neville could track its flight through the still-dark sky by the burning phosphorous on the back of the shell. An explosion flashed as the shell hit on target. The other eight 406mm then elevated and fired simultaneously, belching flame and tearing noise. The entire ship shook.

Every thirty seconds the guns spoke again, raining death down on the fortress prison of Azkaban. Looking forward, Neville saw that the heavy cruiser HMS Camelot had started adding her weight to the bombardment. He could also see the shells of the other ships arcing towards the island. He turned to the captain, who was observing operations from the bridge, rather than the action information centre below.

"Sir, I'll be taking my leave now," he said politely. After receiving a curt nod, Neville grasped his belt buckle and touched his wand to it. In a millesecond he was in a passageway on HMS Daring. He blinked a few times. Unlike the bridge of the King Arthur, Daring wasn't darkened, and the lights overhead hurt his eyes. He found his way aft to the flight deck, where Chinook heavy lift helicopters of 16 Squadron were loading sticks of SAS soldiers, known colloquially as 'blades.' Neville approached someone who looked to be in charge.

"I need to get on one of those helicopters," he said.

"Who are you?" the SAS officer replied. He was dressed like all the other SAS personnel, in combat dress with black knit cap and gloves, and a blackened face. He had a pistol belt loaded down with equipment and a submachine gun slung over a shoulder. A radioman stood behind him.

"Leftenant Longbottom, of His Majesty's staff," Neville replied, pulling out the orders Harry had given him. "I'm going to assist in the recovery of the prison and take inventory of the prisoners."

"Well, Leftenant," the SAS officer replied. "You'll not be doing it in that getup. Matthews!" he called to a nearby batman. "Take the leftenant here to get changed. Get him an SMG and a sidearm." Neville looked down at his blue shirt and dark blue trousers and pullover.

"Sarh!" Matthews replied with a salute. "Come along, sahr," he said to Neville, and promptly dissappeared into the ship. Neville hurried to follow him, and was shown to a cabin where there was a spare combat uniform and black knit cap that he put on. When he exited the cabin, Matthews was standing there holding a submachine gun and a makeup stick. "This won' take a mo', sahr," he said, shoving the submachine gun at Neville. He set upon Neville's face next, blacking his face with the makeup. When he was done, he stepped back, and reached into his pockets. In one hand he had a pistol that he shoved into Neville's spare hand, and in the other, he had subdued shoulder boards in the proper rank, which he proceeded to apply to Neville's uniform. "All done, sahr," Matthews said, stepping back with an approving look. "Le's get back t'the colonel." Without further ado Matthews turned and started walking. "Ya know how ta use those weapons, sahr?" he asked without turning around. Neville hurried after him.

"Yes," Neville replied. "I've had firearms familiarization training." In truth, Neville had had more than just familiarization training. He'd actually become quite proficient at using rifles and pistols over the last few months, despite focusing on his Navy training. It was amazing what the permission of the crown got you in Avalon.

Neville burst back onto the flight deck, breezy on account of the prop wash from the rotor blades and engulfed in the whine of the turbine engines. The batman presented him to the colonel as Neville pulled up, slinging his submachine gun.

"At least you look like a proper blade," the colonel said, frowning. "Do you know how to use that?" he asked, pointing at the slung weapon.

"Yes, sir," Neville replied stiffly.

"Fine," the colonel sighed. "You'll be with me. Don't make me regret it."

"Thank you, sir," Neville replied. He moved behind the colonel and waited patiently. Presently, the colonel moved to one of the waiting helicopters and boarded. Neville followed the radioman and the batman Matthews into the aircraft.

He sat on one of the web benches and proceeded to check the weapon. It was an MP5SD3 submachine gun, manufactured by Heckler and Koch, and modified by Avalon Arms. It fired a 9mm round. The magically modified version carried a two hundred round magazine, and fired at a rate of 800 rounds per minute in complete silence. Even the cycling of the bolt was suppressed. Neville ensured the magazine was properly affixed, the weapon was safed, and there was a round in the chamber.

When he looked up, the cargo area was packed with soldiers. It was magically expanded, and looked more like the inside of a standard Hercules than a standard Chinook. With a slight sway, the helicopter departed the deck. Neville went back to work, checking through the other magazines he was given. They appeared fully loaded. He lay the MP5 across his lap and unholstered the pistol. It was an L9A1 Browning Hi-Power, manufactured by FN and magically modified by Avalon Arms. It carried a fifty round magazine. It too, was loaded and safed, with a round in the chamber. Satisfied, Neville returned the Hi-Power to its holster and turned to look out the window behind him.

The dawn was breaking, but the brightest thing was still the flashes from the naval artillery striking the island. The helicopters were close enough now that he could see both Task Force King Arthur and Azkaban. The air assault was approaching from the south-west, on a direct flight from the Avalon, and well clear from the line of fire from Task Force King Arthur. The guns would only cease firing when the Chinooks approached within half a mile of the fortress.

Turning back to the interior, Neville could barely make out the other soldiers in the darkness. Those he could see were sitting with eyes closed or checking gear. Others were staring at their feet or each other. At the back of the Chinook, the ramp was down and the crew chief was manning a machinegun.

Before he knew it, the helicopter was flaring; the rear end swinging around to the left. Neville looked back at the ramp. The crew chief was firing the machinegun at a target Neville couldn't see. The soldiers were on their feet in an instant. The back wheels hadn't even touched down yet and they were pouring out of the helicopter. Neville went as soon as he could, stepping into the cool morning air. The sun was finally over the horizon, but the warmth had yet to touch the cratered moonscape he'd arrived on.

Neville stepped carefully to one side of the ramp to wait for the colonel, and took in the view. The first thing he noticed was the overpowering stench of burning and smoke. The air was full of it. The ground was covered in scorched craters, large and small, and pieces of shrapnel littered the landscape. What hadn't been touched was fire-blackened. The prison administrative centre, the only part of the prison above ground, was rubble. All around Neville, men were rushing off helicopters and hurrying around like ants.

The colonel stepped off the Chinook and Neville moved to follow him. He headed right to the administrative centre. Neville stepped carefully through the burnt rubble, navigating around a collapsed archway that used to be the main entrance. The roofless hallway beyond was strewn with stones and plaster shards. Everywhere was singed, blackened, smouldering.

They came to a spiral stairway at the end of the hall, and descended into the bowels of the prison. Here there was less fire damage, less damage from the bombardment. The colonel stopped in a large room that appeared to be the receiving room for new prisoners. There were several doors around the perimeter. Some were opened, and Neville could see blades running past at random intervals. One wall had several service counters built into it, with another room behind where the guards worked. In the middle of the floor was a large table.

The colonel's batman immediately unrolled a map on the table, and he and the radioman secured it to the table with sticking charms. Neville hung back by the stairs, unsure of what he was allowed to do. The colonel bent over the map and began directing troops with his radio.

To Neville's left, a door opened and a man in dingy wizarding robes swept out, pointing his wand at the colonel. Without pausing, Neville brought his submachine gun up and fired a three round burst into the wizard, dropping him with all three rounds stitched across his chest. The weapon made no noise, to Neville's delight, and the recoil was barely noticeable, allowing him to keep his aim. The only noise were the metallic pings made by the three empty cartridge cases hitting the ground.

The colonel turned around when he heard the body hit the floor, the wand clattering across the dirty stone pavers. He saw the body, then turned and saw Neville lowering his weapon, but also moving to secure the door without being told. He made eye contact with Neville and nodded slightly, before turning back to his map.

Neville looked through the door, and pulled his head back immediately as a bright green spell raced towards him. It hit the wooden door instead, shattering it. Neville poked his head back around, bringing the weapon up. There were two more men at the end of the hall. Neville engaged, firing perhaps thirty rounds in controlled three round bursts. The men would duck into doorways further down the hall, then pop out and fire spells at him.

It took him about three minutes to get into the rhythm of it. When the first of them went down, it was with a round in the shoulder, and he started screaming. A second burst finished him off. Seeing his partner down, the other wizard bolted down the hall to get away, randomly firing spells as he went to cover his movement.

Neville calmly brought the muzzle of his MP5 back up and loosed a final three round burst at the target. The wizard's head exploded in a burst of gore, and the body tumbled to the ground. Neville eased out from behind the doorframe and cautiously made his way down the hall. He kicked the wands away from the bodies. They were no one he recognized, though the headless man could've been Harry and he wouldn't've been able to tell.

Further down the hall a team of blades rounded a corner. Neville nearly shot them, but recognized them in time, lowering his weapon, even as they yelled, "Friendlies coming in!" Neville nodded, and safed his submachine gun.

"None of these rooms have been checked," Neville said, indicating the rooms on either side of the hall.

"We'll get all of them, sir," the leader replied. They lined up on the first door they came to. Then, with a quick "Alohamora!" the door opened, helped along by a boot, and the four man team disappeared again, shouting to alert each other to their positions as they went about their deadly work.

Neville, confident that the hall was now in good hands, and hesitant to be the cause of any friendly fire casualties, turned back to the room with the colonel and his map. Neville found it more full than it had been, with several other officers present reporting to the colonel, and a stream of prisoners walking by.

"Where are they going?" Neville asked a soldier who was escorting the prisoners.

"We're taking them back to the Daring for now," the soldier replied. "We'll then determine why they were incarcerated, and either release them, or move them to the Royal Bill until Azkaban can be rebuilt."

"The Royal Bill?" Neville asked.

"The Royal William Prison?" the soldier said hesitantly. "You know, in Camelot?"

"Oh," Neville said.

"You've not heard it called that, sir?" the soldier continued. "Paying the Royal Bill… the euphemism for doing time?"

"Sorry, no," Neville said embarrassed. "Well, don't let me hold you up." He waved the man on, then made his way over to the officers.

"…secured these floors here," an officer was saying, pointing to several spots on the map. "There are three enemy dead, and one wounded. The wounded man is being transported to Camelot for processing and care."

"How many prisoners?" the colonel asked.

"We've counted fifty-seven inmates, one POW," the first officer replied.

"We've got an additional hundred and sixteen inmates and one POW," a second officer added.

"Anyone else?" the colonel asked. The other officers shook their heads. "How 'bout you, Leftenant Longbottom?"

"Er, three dead, no prisoners, sir," Neville said.

"That's some good work, for a squid," the colonel said. "Quick thinking taking out the one gunning for me."

"This made it easy," Neville replied, hefting the submachine gun. "I've got to get one of my own." The colonel laughed.

"Keep it," he said. "Just let the MoD know you've got it." The colonel looked back at the assembled officers. "OK, gents, you've your marching orders. Back to work." The assembled officers braced to attention and saluted the colonel before hurrying back to their own command posts deep within the prison. Azkaban had fallen.

 **Hermione—6 AM, August 31, 1997**

It felt decidedly odd to be walking down the street in Muggle London in the uniform of a para at six in the morning. The street in Whitehall, not far from Harry's headquarters at Horse Guards, had been closed down by D Company moments before. Beyond the military cordon normal people were beginning to stir as on any normal Sunday. Once the cordon was established, the rest of the force had arrived by lorry, to reinforce the image that this was a British Army counter-terrorism exercise, which is the bill of goods that had been sold to the rest of the government and the British people.

Hermione and her father were assigned to the regimental headquarters, which was setting up a command tent in the middle of the street. A Company was a little further along, securing the employee entrance to the Ministry for Magic, which was disguised as a public toilet; while B Company was securing the visitor's entrance, which Hermione recognized as a telephone box. C Company was assembling across the street. They'd be going in first, with one platoon using each toilet and the third using the visitor's entrance.

While the Parachute Regiment were busy with the Ministry, the Rifles would be taking Diagon Alley. The Brittia Light Infantry would be seizing St. Mungos, a decidedly delicate operation for which they'd been rehearsing practically non-stop for two weeks.

Hermione looked down the street. Some of the lights were on in the government buildings, but not many. She knew from the briefings that there were caretakers and security in most of the buildings.

"Dad?" she said, not looking at him.

"Yeah?" he replied next to her.

"What was it like in the Falklands?" This was both idle and pointed. She herself would imminently be entering, if not combat, then a combat zone. She was feeling tense, and needed something to distract her.

"It was bloody cold," her father replied. "And wet. And we didn't have enough to eat. And the bloody ship carrying our helicopters sank, so we had to walk everywhere. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life."

"Great pep talk dad," Hermione snorted.

"Hermione, I'm not going to shoot rainbows out of my arse for you," her father said, finally looking at her. "The American General William Tecumseh Sherman said it best… 'War is hell.' Have you ever seen a dead man?" Hermione shook her head. "It's fucking horrible. I saw a few Argentine corpses in '82. They were so pale and stiff. They were dirty. Their wounds looked purple. Some were missing body parts. Their eyes were lifeless, just staring out, or they'd fogged over. I don't know which was worse."

"That's awful," Hermione said bluntly.

"You're damn right it is," her father nodded. "You'll see it today. I just pray you don't have to take a life yourself." They'd reached the tent, and were ushered inside by a private. The company commanders were seated in chairs preparing for their final briefing.

Major Granger walked over to where the regiment's second-in-command, a tall lieutenant colonel, was standing. Hermione, now Captain Granger, sat next to A Company's commander, a stout major she'd met before. She'd attended several briefings over the past few weeks, and learned the battalion's hierarchy well.

"Alright, settle down," the regimental commander said a few moments later. "We've got a lot of work to do today. I'm not going to go over it again with you. You should all know your assignments. I'll run things from here until the minister's office is secured, then regiment will move operations down there.

"Stick to your priorities," the colonel continued. "A Company heads to the Department of Mysteries. B Company gets the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. C Company needs to secure the Department of Magical Transportation. D Company, once the Atrium's secured, needs to get two platoons downstairs to cover that fast so the other companys can proceed to their objectives. The third platoon will remain above ground and secure our operations here. Once the action is over and the Ministry's secured, the third platoon will close up shop here, send the lorries back to Wellington Barracks, and join us downstairs. Are there any questions?" He was met with silence. "Then stand to and prepare to execute." The chairs were emptied as the assembled officers braced to attention, saluted, and departed. The two Grangers remained behind.

"Damn glad I'm not in the initial assault wave," Major Granger said, looking down at the floor plan on the table.

"There shouldn't be much opposition," Hermione replied.

"Doesn't matter," her father replied. "When you're first, everywhere is enemy territory."

"I'm more worried about securing the Atrium," the colonel interjected. "Once C Company seizes Transportation, they can shut down the floo, but the Atrium still has the apparition point. It's where Ministry forces will continue to appear."

"Sir, they're starting," the second-in-command said from the bank of radios in the corner. The colonel moved three blue counters, numbered one through three, and one with 'HQ'on it, into the atrium. "They've subdued the watch wizard, but he sounded the alarm," the lieutenant colonel reported.

"Fucking hell!" the colonel swore. He went over to the radios, picking up a handset. "Charlie Charlie one, this is Whiskey Sunray, Foxtrot, Hotel, and Tango, move your forces to Objective Quarry ASAP." The radio crackled with 'Roger!' and 'Wilco!' replies. He set the handset down. "That should get 'em moving." He headed back to the map, and shoved red, white, and green counters into the Atrium. Only the green counter with the number three and a group of grey counters were left off.

"Why couldn't they all portkey in from the beginning?" Major Granger asked.

"Had to make sure the portkey points were clear first," Hermione replied. "Plus, having people arrive through the floo from the entry points would be normal, while a group portkeying in wouldn't be. We wanted to get the jump on them."

"Didn't work out too well," the colonel snorted. "No plan survives first contact with the enemy."

"Too bloody right," Major Granger replied.

"B Company reports Level 2 secured," the lieutenant colonel announced from the corner.

"Casualties?" the colonel asked, moving the white counters to that part of the schematic.

"One dead, three wounded," the lieutenant colonel replied. "Seventeen enemy down, five POWs." A black counter was placed on the map.

"That'll be most of the law enforcement personnel on duty today," the colonel observed.

"D Company reports a large number of enemy personnel arriving via floo, apparition, and portkey," the lieutenant colonel said. "They're sustaining some casualties… Captain Murphy is down."

"See if A Company can flex a platoon to help out," the colonel said. "They shouldn't need all three two secure five POWs and take Level 3." He turned back to the map. "Well that went tits up fast." He glanced up at Hermione. "Sorry." Hermione waved it off.

"I've heard worse, sir," she shrugged. He nodded and started moving counters on the map board.

A Company's third platoon is en route," the lieutenant colonel said. He returned the headset to his ear. "Major Taylor is down."

"Fuck," the colonel swore. "Who's in command now? Reynolds or Prewett?"

"Baker," the lieutenant colonel replied.

"That went all to cock fast. Baker's a halfwit. Captain Granger," the colonel said. "You're to go down to the atrium and take command of D Company. You understand the mission, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, straightening.

"I'm going too," her father said. "To observe."

"Of course," the colonel replied.

"You stay behind me," Hermione ordered. Then she took his hand and apparated into hell.

She landed with her father in the fountain, protected from the floos by the statue. To her left and right were D Company's first and second platoons, arrayed in a rough line. Stone pavers had been transfigured into barricades, and the soldiers were behind them, firing constantly at similar barricades across the room from which spell fire was emanating. The noise was deafening, and the firing created an odd strobe light effect punctuated by the glow of spells.

Hermione leapt from the fountain and dashed back to the company command post, near the elevators. There, she found the bodies of Major Taylor and his sergeant major, and a very wounded Captain Murphy. Also present were Lieutenant Baker, a radioman, and a combat medical technician, who was working feverishly on Captain Murphy.

"Leftenant Baker, I'm Captain Granger," she announced, picking up Major Taylor's rifle and removing the magazines from his pouches. "Colonel Ash sent me down to take charge of the situation. Approximately how many enemy are we facing?" She slapped a fresh magazine into the rifle, an L85.

"What?" the lieutenant asked, then turned to the radioman. "Get confirmation from Whiskey Sunray."

"How many enemy, leftenant?" she pressed, looking back towards the floos.

"Dunno," the lieutenant replied. "Twenty? Forty? It's hard to tell. They're behind bulwarks."

"So, worst case, our forces outnumber theirs two to one, and we have superior firepower and training?" she clarified. "Why the holy hell are we sitting here on our arses? Return to your platoon. I'm in command." She turned to the radioman. "Did Major Taylor bring the ward stones with him?"

"No, ma'am," the radioman replied. "They're still in the lorry on the street."

"Go get them, and bring them here," she ordered, Lieutenant Baker sputtering in the background. "When you do, let me know, and we'll activate them. Go now!" The radioman apparated away.

"What are you doing?" Lieutenant Baker asked.

"My job," Hermione replied.

"But if you activate the rune stones, we won't be able to apparate reinforcements into the atrium," Lieutenant Baker argued.

"In a few moments C Company will have secured the Department of Magical Transportation, and the controls for the floo network. We won't need to apparate in reinforcements, while systematically denying the enemy the ability to reinforce themselves," Hermione shot back. "Now get back to your platoon, leftenant!" With that, she picked up and ran over to the left side, where there was a clear platoon headquarters near the guard desk. She slid into position next to another lieutenant.

"Leftenant, do you have any LAW 80s left?" she asked. The lieutenant looked up, surprised.

"Yes, ma'am, all of them," he replied.

"Fire them at the ceiling just above the enemy and at the fortifications they're using," she ordered. The lieutenant moved to do that, darting rapidly along the line, speaking to various solders and gesturing in the direction of the enemy. It wasn't long before the first rockets blazed towards the enemy, exploding violently against the ancient stone ceiling and the transfigured rock breastworks. Some of the enemy managed to shield themselves, or levitate the stone away from them, but most didn't, and in doing so, the enemy was distracted.

"Ma'am, the rune stone," the radioman reported, suddenly appearing behind her. Without a word, she took it, set it on the ground, and activated it. It glowed blue, indicating it was working. "Sunray says to tell you that C Company has secured Level 6, and has taken control of the Floo Network."

"Tell Sunray that all reinforcements will have to come in through the floo, and that they'll be coming onto the battlefield in the enemy rear," she said as explosions continued to detonate beyond the front line. The lieutenant had returned, and Hermione focused on him. "Good job, leftenant," she praised. "Keep up the fire. I'm going to have Leftenant Baker advance and end this."

"Ma'am!" the lieutenant replied as she sprinted away across the atrium, dodging some spell fire, but less than before. She slid into the defences Lieutenant Baker was using, with the radioman huffing along behind.

"Leftenant, the other platoon has suppressed the enemy," Hermione explained. "They're distracted and their defences are in disarray. No more enemy reinforcements will be arriving. You are to assault the enemy and destroy them."

"What?" Lieutenant Baker asked. "Are you bloody crazy? A third of my men are down. I can't attack."

"You will attack," Hermione shot back, shouting over the noise of battle.

"I won't," Lieutenant Baker replied.

"In that case, you're relieved, report to the Company Command Post for reassignment," Hermione declared. "Sergeant," she continued, turning to the platoon sergeant, who was looking on in shock, "you will lead your platoon in an attack on the enemy position, clearing it of enemy combatants. You will be assisted by supporting fire from the other platoon. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," the sergeant replied. He immediately turned and darted forward towards a corporal to relay instructions.

Hermione rushed back to the Company Command Post, finding her father helping the combat medical technician keep Captain Murphy alive. The radioman arrived just after her.

"You're all doing great," she announced. "How's he doing?"

"He'll probably live, ma'am," the combat medical technician replied. "It was touch and go for a while, but I've got him stable."

"Great," Hermione smiled. She turned to the radioman. "Call the other leftenant and let him know that Baker's platoon is going in."

"Leftenant Reynolds, ma'am, with First Platoon," the radioman replied. "Sergeant Thompson has Second Platoon." Then he hoisted his handset and began talking. Hermione poked her head over the barricade in front of her, taking in the battlefield.

The enemy positions were a mess of rubble and bodies. Spell fire was still emanating from the defences, but no enemy troops were visible. The volume of fire increased from First Platoon's barricades. The rattling of machineguns and rifles drowned out the roar of rockets firing, but the explosions still dominated. It was so much that her hearing had some time ago been nearly overpowered by tinnitus. The smoke was choking, and she could barely breathe. She felt some wetness, and looked down. Her trousers were torn and her hip was bloody. She realized she'd rubbed it raw sliding into Second Platoon's headquarters.

She looked back over the barricade, and watched as Second Platoon rose as one man, vaulted over the barricades and sprinted for the enemy works. Several men fired from the hip as they ran, but most just ran flat out, hurling themselves down at the base of the enemy breastworks. She was relieved to see that most of the men made it, with only a few falling to curses.

From their spot at the barricades, the men dropped grenades on the other side, then rolled over the top when the small bombs detonated. She could hear more gunfire on the other side of the barricade, but couldn't see anything.

"Tell Leftenant Reynolds to have his platoon attack in support of Second," Hermione ordered the radioman. There was a rather large magical explosion in the enemy defences, and the lights in the Atrium flickered. "Tell him to hurry."

Moments later First Platoon rose up like Second before it, and rushed the enemy works. The entirety of her available forces were now out of her sight. She stood, and rushed up to where First Platoon's front lines had been, and crouched down, peering over the barricades for a better look.

"Fuck it," she swore, realizing she couldn't see anything. She leapt over the barricade, and rushed up to the enemy barricades, and peered over them. Inside was a charnel house. Paras were firing point blank at Death Eaters, who were trying their hardest to fight back. Many Death Eaters were already dead.

Hermione readied her rifle and leapt into the action. Vaulting over the barricade, she brought her rifle up and fired. To her, it seemed like she was working on autopilot, identifying targets and engaging. She missed more than she hit, but she watched at least three men go down through her sights. Then there were no more targets.

"Clear!" came the shout from all along the front. Hermione walked over to Lieutenant Reynolds.

"Take charge here," she ordered. "Collect the enemy fallen so they can be processed, and report to me your losses and combat status as soon as you're able. I'll be working with Whiskey Sunray to start bringing in reinforcements, so expect friendlies to be arriving via the employee floos."

"Yes, ma'am," Lieutenant Reynolds responded, saluting. She snapped a salute back, and returned to the Company Command Post. Her father was there, still helping the combat medical technician. He looked up at her and nodded. He looked prouder of her than he ever had before, and it warmed her heart in spite of the carnage around her.

"Report to Whiskey Sunray," Hermione ordered the radioman. "Objective Quarry is secured. Begin movement through the employee floos." She looked at her watch. It was five minutes to seven.

xxxxxxx  
scene break  
xxxxxxx

Harry portkeyed into his forward headquarters at Horse Guards to find the map littered with markers. He was still wearing his flight suit, having landed only moments before.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Operations are progressing largely as planned," the Duke of Avalon replied moving to the map. "Hogsmeade is in our possession. The Guards, as you probably already know, are assaulting Hogwarts Castle. Our tanks have blasted large holes in the walls that our infantry is using as ingress points. Your work this morning was invaluable. Those giants came as a shock to us, as I'm sure they did you, sir."

"Too bloody right," Harry snorted.

"The Navy reports that Azkaban has fallen to our forces," the duke continued, point out the spot on the map. "There were very light casualties on our side. Apparently, the enemy forces at the prison were even less than we'd anticipated. The other RAF strikes went as planned, and most aircraft are now down for resupply and crew rest.

"Just outside, the Paras have secured most of the Ministry," the duke went on, sighing. "They weren't fast enough, and the guard got word out that the Ministry was under attack. Enemy reinforcements showed up after the Paras had penetrated the building, and a sharp fight erupted in the Atrium. In the rest of London, the Brittia Light Infantry took St. Mungo's without a fight, and the Rifles are just finishing clearing Knockturn Alley. Casualties there were very low—just one or two. Diagon Alley and Carkitt Market are secured.

"The Armoured Brigade is in Wiltshire," the duke finished, sweeping his hand across the map again. "Division Artillery is shelling Lucius Malfoy's Estate, and the Royal Tank Regiment and the Royal Fusiliers are waiting to go in. The Annwn Fusiliers and Queen's Own Hussars have seized their objectives: the Yaxley Estate and the LeStrange Estate. The first phase of operations should be concluded by the end of today."

"And Voldemort?" Harry asked, taking it all in.

"Still hasn't made an appearance," the duke offered. "We think he might be holed up in the Malfoy Estate or at his ancestral home in the East Country." Harry nodded.

"So operations are progressing as planned," Harry summarized, nodding. He made a decision. "We continue as intended. I'll inform the Queen."

It was sometime later that evening when Harry walked into the command post to find two very dirty friends waiting for him. Both their faces were smudged, but Neville's was dirtier. They both looked physically fine, but exhausted.

"What the hell happened to you lot?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Azkaban," Neville said simply.

"The Ministry," Hermione replied.

It wasn't long before the stories came tumbling out. How Neville had watched the bombardment before weaselling his way onto a helicopter and backing up the SAS commander during the assault. How Hermione had assumed command of D Company, the Parachute Regiment, leading men in the thickest of the fight to take the Ministry. Harry's own tale from the morning paled before theirs, though he'd learned later that he'd saved the lives of the downed RAF pilot and weapons officer and his actions had had the largest material benefit in battle.

"So what was the cost?" Harry asked at the end. Hermione handed him the report she'd been reading. He leafed through the first few pages, coming to the casualty count. Twenty-nine dead, almost ninety wounded, but only six seriously enough to put them out of action for good. The rest were either already healed, or would be by tomorrow morning. The Paras had taken the brunt of it, with ten dead, seventeen wounded in D Company alone. The other companies had accounted for four dead, fifteen wounded. The Grenadier Guards had also taken a fair number of casualties during the seizure of Hogwarts: nine dead, twenty-one wounded. The SAS had a few wounded, one dead. The rest were spread evenly amongst the other infantry regiments and the Queen's Own Hussars, the division reconnaissance regiment.

The price had been high so far. Though it fell far short of what the British populace had suffered to date, and the reward had been worth it. One hundred six enemy dead were listed on the rolls by name, and seven more dead were unknown. Topping the list were Voldemort's inner circle: Lucius Malfoy, the three LeStranges, the Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood, Yaxley, and Pettigrew. The Royal Bill was hosting fifty-four new prisoners of war, and sixty-one more were being treated in St. Mungos. One hundred fifty-five political prisoners had been treated and released. All major centres of Magical Britain were in the hands of the Royal Army.

"I'd call that a win for us, then," Harry said softly, laying the report down. "Fucking Voldemort."

"He'll get his tomorrow, Harry," Hermione consoled him. He wrapped her up in a hug.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Harry sighed as the adrenaline he'd been working off all day finally abandoned him.

"Me too," Hermione replied.

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One perk of being king was that Harry got a suite at St. James's Palace to rest in during the campaign. St. James's Palace had the advantage of being conveniently located to Horse Guards, and quite private. It was there that Harry and Hermione retreated once they'd both gotten cleaned up. A light supper of sandwiches followed, before Harry lay back in bed and flipped on the telly. It was late, nearly midnight, but it was the first time he'd had to relax all day.

Despite being a wizard, being muggle raised, and now living in Avalon where television was commonplace, Harry had never liked to go without a bit of telly. Though he liked reading, he found it easier to consume news via the telly, which tended to highlight stories he could learn more about from the paper later.

Unfortunately for Harry, the news that day was completely consumed by one story. It was, of course, a massively huge story; one of the biggest of the decade. The death of Princess Diana would be a media event not soon to be topped in Britain, and an event that would resonate with the British public in a way not seen since the end of the Second World War.

Harry knew who Princess Diana was, of course—there wasn't a person brought up in the United Kingdom who didn't know—and Harry for the second time that day felt loss. Hermione burst into his room.

"Did you see?" she cried.

"Princess Di?" Harry clarified. "I'm watching it now." Hermione nodded and flung herself onto the bed. Harry put a comforting arm around her.

It was a quirk of the military operations that they'd been away from the news for the past twenty-four hours, and this was the first they'd both heard of the death. Harry realized how odd it was that moments before he'd been so focused on the campaign, but now was so completely focused on the unrelated death of a national icon that the campaign was completely pushed aside in his mind.

He lay there propped against the pillows watching Hermione cry into his chest. She hadn't been this affected when she'd been reporting the deaths of the men she'd led. She hadn't reported crying during the action. It was just so incongruous.

Car lights swept across the ceiling, and Harry looked out to see who was driving around at midnight. His blood ran cold when he saw it was a hearse.

"'Mione, look," he said, pointing. "I think it's her." There were several other cars pulling up as well, and Harry got up to watch out the window. Hermione joined him, and together, they looked down on the small assembly as Diana's coffin was carried from the hearse to St. James's Chapel to lie in state.

"So sad," she whispered. "So bloody pointless." Harry didn't reply. She was right.

"At least our men died for a purpose," he said at last. After a pause he added, "And more will, until we end the war."

"End it soon," Hermione prayed.

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The next morning, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were standing in a field in Yorkshire, outside the town of Little Hangleton. It was a place Harry had been before. The first time it was dark, and he'd been fighting for his life against Voldemort. This time it would be light, if only just, and he'd be fighting for a country against Voldemort.

They were standing outside the headquarters of the Guards Brigade. Division Artillery headquarters was immediately adjacent, as were Division headquarters, and the RAF ground controllers.

From the ground, Harry watched as the Tornado fighters streaked fast and low overhead, seeming to touch the tree tops. They were close enough to their target that the ordnance pods were already open. Neville flinched at the roar as the jets passed. Hermione, still recovering her hearing from the battle at the Ministry was not affected. Harry was immune from flight training. They waited.

In the distance, came the bright flashes of magical bombs, followed by sharp reports. Then the dim morning sky flashed orange with explosions. Mighty booms reverberated in the still morning, then a great ripping sound rent the air.

"That's the wards falling," Harry informed them. "Cover your ears." He did as he'd instructed just in time for the sixty-four M109 155mm self-propelled howitzers and eighteen L118 105mm towed howitzers to begin firing. The gun lines were spread out across the fields around the headquarters, and they were all targeting one house.

It was a massive array of firepower for one target. It was so much overkill that Harry expected the house to be gone by the time he arrived. The cannonade was so large, and the guns fired so frequently, as to become one continuous booming noise that lasted for five minutes. The noise was all consuming. Harry's senses were assaulted from the overpowering sound to the strobe effect of the flashes of fire, to the choking fumes the breezeless sky refused to dissipate.

In the distance, Harry watched as the horizon was illuminated by the bursting shells. The target was five kilometres distant. Harry couldn't hear the shell bursts over the roaring of the guns, but he had seen artillery fire before on the range and knew that he wanted to be nowhere near where those shells were landing.

A Warrior infantry fighting vehicle from the Guards Brigade headquarters company pulled up next to the trio. The rear door opened, and a major stepped out and approached.

"Sir," he shouted over the barrage, "we're ready to take you to the front." Harry nodded and led the trio to the back of the Warrior. The squat tracked vehicle was the latest in armoured weaponry. It could carry a section of men into battle and fight once it got there. It had a 30mm cannon and some general purpose machineguns. The headquarters companies used it to ferry commanders and other officers around the battlefield in safety.

When the door closed, Harry could hear his ears ringing in the silence. The runic formulas engraved in the vehicle were working overtime to keep the thunderous bombardment out. Thanks to the internal lights, it was actually brighter inside the vehicle than out, and it took Harry's eyes a moment to adjust. There were three other people in the back already: Brigadier Tom Potter, the British Army colonel assigned to the Guards, and the brigade commander's radioman.

"Don't you have a tank?" Harry asked Tom, confused.

"Can't get any work done in the bloody thing, sir," the brigadier replied. "I've pawned it off on my second in command, and use this to track the battle."

"Sensible," Harry decided. The Warrior lurched forward, the engine noise a quiet rumble.

"Riddle Manor should be a smoking wreck by the time we get there," Tom reported. "My men and division recce have had eyes on the place since quarter of one this morning. Last report, Voldemort was inside. We got eyes on him right after we got here and he was not well pleased. He tortured a subordinate to death, and then he went to bed around half one. Scouts reported no magic usage since, and the boys and girls down at the Ministry haven't reported any magical transportation into or out of the house since around midnight."

"I wonder if he's dead," Harry mused.

"Probably," the brigadier replied.

"That'd be a bit of a damp squib if he was," the British colonel interjected.

"That'd be a blessing, colonel," Harry countered. "Too many have already died at his hands. I won't have one more than necessary."

The interior of the Warrior went quiet. The only sound was the rumbling of the engine and the occasional crackling of the radio. They continued in silence, each left to their own thoughts. Elsewhere around the country, the Airborne Brigade, the Armoured Brigade, and the SAS were conducting their own missions, sweeping up the last of the Death Eater forces. Harry reflected a moment on Princess Di, too. He wasted a moment wondering what sort of world would have come about had she lived. He mentally shook his head. Wills and Harry were the future of the British Royal Family, Diana was… well, it didn't matter anymore.

The Warrior lurched to a stop. The door opened, and Harry stepped out into a moonscape. It looked like pictures he'd seen of no-man's land in the First World War: deep craters, shattered trees, blasted structures, extending for dozens of metres in every direction. Right in front of him was the remains of Riddle Manor. All around were idling Challenger tanks and Warrior vehicles. Infantrymen milled about, some pulling security, others just standing and gaping.

Hermione and Neville joined him. They simply stared for a moment, looking at what modern war had wrought. Presently, Harry started walking toward the remains of the building where Voldemort was supposed to be. He nearly tripped over a bit of ripped flesh. Harry stopped and looked down. Was this the lackey who'd been tortured to death? A closer examination revealed reptilian scales.

Looking around, Harry saw other bits of flesh and bone. Kicking aside some dirt, Harry was able to see enough to realize that he was looking at the remains of Nagini. He finally found enough of the head to be sure: a half a skull, jaw blasted away, with one fang curving down from the top of the mouth. One more horcrux down, Harry mused, and continued on.

Reaching the base of what had been the front steps, Harry paused again, trying to determine the best way forward. Eventually, he settled on moving around the remnants of the house to the left, trying to find a safer way to view the interior of the structure. In most places, the ground floor had given way, or been blasted away, and collapsed into the basement, walls collapsed on top of them, and the roof on top of all. Fire licked at the exposed wood in several places, and building columns of smoke curled from under the most intact bits of house.

Harry could feel the residual magic here. The home had recently been protected by powerful wards, and their loss was something a magic user, even an untrained one, could detect. Raw magic flowed about in the air.

The trio came to the side of the house, and Harry was finally able to see inside. The ruin was complete. Bits of furniture were strewn about as though a giant child playing house had had a tantrum. Harry spied half a four-poster bed, the headboard splintered and collapsed onto the mattress.

"Is that Voldemort's bed, you think?" Neville asked, pointing.

"Let's go find out," Harry said, climbing into the rubble. It took two or three minutes to make it to the bed. Harry and Neville pulled the headboard off to find nothing.

"Harry, he's here," Hermione called from nearby.

Harry turned to look, and saw him immediately. Voldemort, terror of Britain, was wrecked. His face sported deep gouges and an arm was gone, but he was still breathing. Harry approached. As he stood over Voldemort, he could see the man's legs were ripped off, and the bottom of his pelvis was missing. Blood and gore leaked out of his torso barely hidden under scraps of fabric. The demon was living on sheer spite.

Harry looked, but couldn't see a wand. The one hand Voldemort did have was hanging limp at his side. Harry relaxed a bit.

"Hello Tom," Harry said calmly. Voldemort looked up and tried to speak, but couldn't. Without a word, Harry pulled his wand out and pointed it at Voldemort. "No," he decided finally, putting it away. "It wouldn't be proper." Voldemort's expression didn't change, but for a moment Harry could see hope in his eyes. Harry suppressed a grin. Instead, he unholstered his sidearm, a Browning Hi-Power. "Goodbye Tom." He fired twice into Voldemort's head, the 9mm rounds penetrating easily and ripping the back of his skull off, sending brain matter into the rubble.

Harry looked down at the corpse. Voldemort's earthly body was done. It could no longer sustain life. There was no woosh of a spirit, but Harry knew there was one horcrux left. The plague was not yet gone, but he'd bought breathing room in spades. Magical Britain could start to rebuild. Harry finally let himself grin.

MI6 was already working to locate the last horcrux. Yesterday they'd narrowed it down to the area around Hogwarts, and were further shrinking the footprint of possible locations today. The horcrux would be gone soon.

Harry kicked aside some rubble and found Voldemort's wand. It was a light wood stained dark with the sweat and blood of centuries of use. Harry had never seen another like it, and was determined not to see this one wielded again. He picked up the wand, and it seemed to sing to him. The horcruxes had done the same. He didn't like it. He grasped the wand firmly between his hands and in a smooth motion snapped the wand he would never learn was the Elder Wand. He pocketed the pieces.

With one last look, Harry started picking his way out of the rubble. Neville and Hermione followed, with Hermione spitting on the corpse on her way out. They made their way back to the Warrior, and rode in silence back to the Division Command Post.

"It's done," Harry said to himself.

"What about the other brigades' missions?" Neville asked.

"The Duke of Avalon can take care of mopping up operations," Harry said. "The plan's a good one, and he'll be more aware of places we need to search for Death Eater remnants than I am. I need to put this country right again."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: A New Way Forward**

This was it, it had to be. The device was pointing right at it. Hestia Jones was standing in front of the long-lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. She'd been searching for two days, ever since Hogwarts had fallen to the Guards. She'd known before the attack that it was located somewhere on the grounds or in the castle. It had been child's play to narrow it down to the seventh floor corridor, and there she'd been stuck for a day and a bloody half.

Eventually, she'd hit the books, and in doing so, built a camaraderie with Irma Pince, the dedicated Hogwarts librarian, who had refused to leave her post even when the Death Eaters arrived. Pince had pointed her to the right books, told her the right lore, and so it was that she had found the Room of Requirement and the hall of lost things. It had been a bloody nightmare to navigate, but she'd done it quite quickly, if she did say so herself.

Hestia wasn't stupid enough to simply pick the diadem up. She could feel the pull, hear it calling to her. She conjured a cardboard box and used her wand to levitate the diadem into it, and shut the lid. Then it was a race to see how fast she could get it where it needed to go. She bolted from the room, racing down the stairs like a child, narrowly missing the trick steps she'd learned to avoid as a student. Bursting out the ruined front door and into the open, she ran flat out for the gates, apparating away the moment she passed the ward line.

She arrived in a hangar at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire, and darted out to the flight operations building. There, she secured the services of a Hercules transport to fly to RAF Nanstow, the closest base to Dr. Walkers remote research facility. Things slowed down considerably for a while while the crew was briefed and the aircraft spun up. It was odd, shifting from speed to waiting, but it was something Hestia had experienced before, so she made do.

Finally, she was seated alone in the expansive cargo area, and the Hercules was rotating off the runway and into the dreary British sky. About an hour and a half later, the aircraft touched down at RAF Nanstow. Once the plane had rolled to a stop, Hestia apparated away. The crew chief popped her head in the back, saw Hestia was gone, and signalled the pilot to prepare for take off again.

Hestia landed at the front door of the research facility, the closest to the building that apparition was allowed. She hauled the door open and raced inside, finding Dr. Walker at work in one of her labs. Hestia banged on the glass and held up the box for inspection, opening the lid so Dr. Walker could see the diadem inside. Five minutes later, the last bit of Voldemort's soul was screaming its swan song as the golf ball it had been transferred to was doused in basilisk venom. Hestia turned to a phone to place a call.

"This is Wildfire," she said, using her codename. "Tell His Majesty that the last of them's been found and destroyed." She sighed. "He'll know what it means." She waited a moment. "Understood. I'll be waiting here. The number is 01 4496 1054." She hung up. "Bloody waiting," she muttered, and slumped into a chair.

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"It still doesn't seem right," Harry complained. "Will you take a look at it?" He passed Hermione a sheaf of papers, which she dutifully began skimming through. While she read, he paced.

"For someone who's never written a constitution before, I'd say this is a good start," she said at last. "Why don't I give it an edit? I'll redo some of the verbiage so that it sounds proper, but still understandable, and does what you want it to do. I very much like the overall format, though, and your ideas are sensible."

"Thank you!" Harry gushed, relieved, and slumped into a chair.

There was a knock on the door, and Harry looked up. St. James's Palace had become a madhouse the last two days, as thousands of well-wishers lined up outside to sign a memorial book for Princess Diana. Harry had retreated there anyway to escape the even madder house of Horse Guards, where he couldn't even be alone in his own office. Now it seemed that the war would intrude here too.

"Enter!" he called. The door entered and Charlus walked in.

"I've good news," Charlus said, closing the door. "The Diadem of Ravenclaw was found at Hogwarts earlier today. Hestia Jones took it to Dr. Walker, who destroyed it. Voldemort's through for good."

"Excellent," Harry said, grinning up from the chair. "Where is Hestia now?"

"She's at the lab," Charlus replied.

"Have her come here," Harry ordered. "I've a job for her."

"I'll ring her immediately," Charlus agreed. "She should be here by late tonight."

"Perfect," Harry allowed.

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Harry entered the study again about an hour later. Hermione was rereading the proposed constitution of Magical Britain again, after rewriting it for him. It was a bold move, the constitution. The United Kingdom famously didn't have a written constitution per se, but rather a constitution that was understood to be the composite of English tradition, written law, and judicial decisions. His constitution was even different from existing written constitutions.

Harry's constitution began with a description of who qualified as a citizen of Magical Britain: notably any wizards, witches, sentient magical creatures, squibs, and any muggle married to a witch, wizard, or squib, or who was the parent of a witch or wizard, so long as they were born in or became naturalized citizens of Magical Britain, the United Kingdom, the Republic of Ireland, or Crown possessions such as the Isle of Man or the Channel Islands, and finally the Monarch of the United Kingdom, and other members of the Royal Family in the immediate line of succession out to great grandchildren of the monarch. He also firmly established Magical Britain as part of the Commonwealth of Nations, which recognized Elizabeth II as Queen.

The next part of the constitution laid out the rights and responsibilities of the citizens of Magical Britain. It enshrined commonly held freedoms: of speech, of religion (which in Magical Britain usually meant the right to be the part of a coven), of assembly, of the press, to a speedy trial with a barrister on your side, and so on. Responsibilities outlined included a duty to vote in elections.

Then Harry created a parliament, comprised of one hundred ministers, who were elected in a nationwide election, and apportioned through proportional representation. He was, in effect, introducing actual political parties to Magical Britain, as they were a requirement of most systems using proportional representation. Citizens would vote for their party of choice, and then rank the candidates from their party in order of preference. The ballots would be combined to find the percentage of candidates each party would seat and the most preferred candidates from each party, who would then fill those seats.

Parliament would then elect its officers, including a Prime Minister, who would be asked to be seated by Queen Elizabeth II. Though parliamentary elections were required to be held every four years, the constitution instructed that it was the monarch's duty to call them, and that she was responsible for scheduling them. Also, if at any time the government became deadlocked, she was to schedule new elections so that the deadlock may be broken.

The Prime Minister would head a cabinet, like the Muggle PM, with departments renamed Ministries, and for the first time including such important ministries as the Foreign Ministry, the Treasury, and the Ministry of Justice, which were required by the constitution, though others might be formed by Parliament as required.

The constitution also, for the first time in Magical Britain, separated the legislative and judicial branches, by establishing both circuit, and superior courts, with the justices recommended by parliament and approved by the Queen. The new Ministry of Justice would employ solicitors and barristers to try cases and review law, and run the Auror Corps and Azkaban to enforce the law.

Harry rightly believed that, while radical to him, it would be downright shocking and scandalous to the majority of the population of Magical Britain. Still, with the backing of a minority of the Magical British population, the will of Her Majesty, and the weapons of Avalon, Magical Britain would be dragged, kicking and screaming into the modern age, at least politically.

"I think that's got it," Hermione said, looking up from her desk. She presented the papers to Harry, who took them, but didn't read them. Instead, he went to the window, where he could see the lines of mourners who'd come to express their love for a woman who had held such a special place in their hearts. Harry wondered for a moment whether he'd ever get such an outpouring from Avalon, or Magical Britain, for that matter. It was a sobering reminder of the hard work he would need to do in the future.

"Are we doing the right thing, 'Mione?" Harry asked. "Is it right to impose our will on a country that's no longer our own?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione replied, rising to join him. "Magical Britain's government has been destroyed. Its population is scattered. We're acting as the Americans did in West Germany, not as the Soviets did in the East. Your constitution lays out a system of government that allows the citizenry to choose their own destiny. Voldemort perverted a shabby, outdated system into a authoritarian government that ripped choice from their hands and gave it to him. The old way proved itself unworkable and dangerous. Despite enduring for a thousand years, its age exposed its flaws, and what had been a creaking ancient ship finally sank. You're merely providing a new way with clear and concrete stepping stones to a free tomorrow."

Harry turned from the window and glanced down at the document. He started reading, and stood immobile for five minutes as he devoured the document. Finally he set it down.

"You have a gift for taking my ideas and turning them into something that makes sense," Harry praised. "You realize what that means, right?" he asked.

"What does it mean?" she wondered.

"It means I have to keep you around for a long time," he replied, smiling. "I need a yin to my yang, an editor, and a confidant. It helps that you're the love of my life." He engulfed her in a hug, and gave her a searing kiss.

"I'm not going anywhere," she stated when they came up for air.

"Good," Harry said, grinning. "I like you right where you are." He kissed her again. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter!" Harry called as he pulled away from Hermione. The door opened, revealing Hestia Jones. "Come in, I have a job for you," Harry said brightly.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Your Majesty," Hestia said with a knowing smile. Harry waved it off and hurried to a nearby shelf, where he withdrew a plain oak box about a half metre square. He handed it to her.

"Go to France and find the Magical British expat community there," Harry instructed. "Tell them the war is over, and they need to be back in Britain as soon as possible. They're to assemble in Diagon Alley on Saturday."

"The sixth?" Hestia asked in clarification.

"Yes, this coming Saturday, by ten in the morning," Harry confirmed. "I'm having the word put out to anyone who stayed."

"Yes, sir," Hestia replied with a genuine smile, glad that the war was over, and things were being set right again. "What am I to do with this?" she asked, hefting the box.

"Present it to Madam Bones, or whomever's in charge, as proof that the war is well and truly over," Harry replied. "We're coming clean about everything."

"Everything, everything?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," Hestia replied again.

"Off with you, then," Harry ordered. "I've business here." He winked impishly, and nodded in Hermione's direction.

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Finding the British expats wasn't a hard job by any means. Hestia had a general idea of where they'd gone; had been told the coordinates of the portkeys they'd used before Hogwarts had fallen. The only hitch was the time. Hestia wasted none, but still didn't manage to track them down until well after dark. It had been a long day, begun just after dawn in the Hogwarts Library. Everyone important was asleep. She decided the next day would be soon enough.

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"Hestia, so good to see you," Kingsley Shacklebolt said lightly the next morning. "I haven't seen you since the battle." She knew he meant the fall of Hogwarts, not the more recent ones. They were standing in a French château, though a small one, on loan from the _Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France_. It was the headquarters of the Magical British government in exile.

"You too, Kingsley," Hestia replied. "I need to speak with the Minister."

"Amelia's fairly busy today," Kingsley prevaricated.

"She's not too busy for this, Kingsley," Hestia said, patting the box. "The war's over. It's time to go home."

"What?" Kingsley asked, shocked. "You mean..."

"Voldemort's dead," Hestia replied. "He was killed by Harry Potter a few days ago. The prophecy's been fulfilled."

"I'll let her know you're here," Kingsley said quickly. He disappeared through a random door. Hestia took the time to look around. The place was nice; seventeenth or early eighteenth century. There was lots of gold leaf and fancy moulding, but it was more like something that might've been found in Germany: small and more simple than baroque. Kingsley returned and ushered her into an even smaller room, a study doubling as the Minister's office.

"I hear you have good news," Amelia said, standing to shake hands.

"I do," Hestia replied. "The war is over. Everyone can return home."

"How did it happen?" Amelia pressed, sitting and gesturing for Hestia to join her.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't there," Hestia answered. "I was at Hogwarts that day. But Harry did kill Voldemort, of that I'm sure."

"Please excuse me if I don't believe you," Amelia said gently. "This has happened before, after all. We believed Minister Bagnold when she said Voldemort was gone, and he clearly wasn't. We'll need proof." At that, Hestia remembered Harry's words from the night before, and pulled the shrunken box from her pocket. She quickly enlarged it and passed it to Amelia.

"Harry said that if you required proof, I was to present you with this," Hestia said.

"What's in it?" Amelia asked.

"I don't know. I didn't ask," Hestia replied.

Amelia opened the box and gasped. Inside was the severed head of Tom Riddle and a broken wand. The head was nearly white, bald, and missing the back of the skull. The eyes were empty and fogged over. The mouth hung loose. There were two small holes: one in the forehead, and the other on the bridge of the almost non-existent nose.

"Sweet Merlin!" Amelia exclaimed, dropping the box to the desk. Kingsley peered inside, and quickly closed his eyes and withdrew.

"I'd say that's proof enough," Kingsley observed. Amelia, who had lost the power of coherent speech, merely nodded.

"Harry requests that all citizens of Magical Britain be present in Diagon Alley at ten o'clock in the morning this Saturday, September 6," Hestia announced. "He has a major announcement."

"He's a bloody hero," Kingsley said. "The Boy Who Lived is now the Man Who Conquered."

"He'd hate for you to say that," Hestia said.

"How did all this come about?" Amelia asked. "I mean, the last I heard Harry was missing, and Voldemort was in firm control. How did Harry do it?"

"All will be revealed on Saturday," Hestia said mysteriously. Harry had, of course, given her the go-ahead to tell them everything, but she wanted them to have a reason to show up on Saturday.

"I'll make an announcement," Amelia said. She turned to Kingsley. "We'd best start packing up. I'm sure we'll have to fumigate the Ministry to get the stink out."

"Oh, you won't be going back to the Ministry," Hestia said. "Don't worry, though. As the Americans say, there's a new sheriff in town, at least until a new government can be constituted."

"I see," Amelia replied, her lips in a thin line. "And you wouldn't be willing to share who this new sheriff might be, would you?"

"It would be easier for you to see for yourself," Hestia replied simply.

"Fine," Amelia acquiesced in a sour tone.

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Wednesday was departure day for those Muggleborns, Squibs, and their families who had elected to return to Magical Britain. Harry stood on the tarmac at the airport in Camelot and wished them well. He shook hundreds of hands, and received a good many hugs, and—to his dismay—some kisses.

Almost a third of the evacuees had elected to return; most immediately. Some had delayed their departure so that their children might finish their education, or to finish schooling themselves. In total, nearly two thousand Muggleborns, Squibs and family members were leaving for Britain.

The remaining evacuees, numbering in excess of four and a half thousand were staying, and putting down roots, to Harry's delight. There was a lot of talent in those four and a half thousand new citizens, and Harry was eager to tap it. Amongst those staying permanently were Tracey Davis and her family, and Luna Lovegood and her father. Justin's family, as predicted, was leaving, but he was remaining behind at the Davis household to finish at what the Finch-Fletchleys considered a better school. Hermione was staying as well, as were the Granger parents.

One of the most important families he saw off were the Tonkses. Ted, Andromeda, and Tonks had been occasional dinner guests at the castle over the past year, but the age difference between Harry and Tonks had worked to keep them distant. It was clear that Tonks missed Remus, and was anxious to get back to him.

The last person Harry bid farewell to was Neville, who had been discharged from the Royal Navy that morning after being promoted to Lieutenant Commander with the thanks of the Monarch for services rendered and a knighthood in the Royal Order of Avalon for his actions at Azakaban Prison. Neville and his Grandmother would be returning to Britain to enthusiastically take part in reshaping the government. It was something that Augusta Longbottom felt was long overdue. She heartily endorsed the new constitution when she'd been presented a copy the day before.

"I'll see you on Saturday, yeah?" Harry asked as he hugged Neville goodbye.

"Yeah," Neville said. There was nothing more to say. Neville hugged Hermione and Luna, both of whom had also come to see him off. "Don't be a stranger," he told the three. Then with one last look back, he boarded the Avalon Air BAe 146-300.

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"They deserve to know!" Harry shouted.

"It isn't done, sir," replied the Prime Minister.

"Why? And who does that serve?" Harry asked rhetorically, the anger practically dripping off his words. "Us? Hardly. It makes personal travel, indeed proving our very identities, amongst other magicals infinitely harder. Besides, after our conquest of Magical Britain, I'm fairly certain the cat's at least halfway out of the bag already. Hestia Jones says the Magical British are already asking questions.

"So, care to explain by whose authority I'm prohibited from revealing the secret of Avalon to the world?" Harry queried. The Prime Minister had the good grace to look at his feet. "Please! Is it a law, a constitutional requirement, something else?"

"It's a royal decree," Charlus interjected calmly, and a bit smugly.

"So it's of no consequence, then," Harry practically laughed. He turned to Charlus. "I want a decree on my desk in an hour repealing the earlier decree for my signature."

"But that decree is by King Hector's hand and has stood for nearly six hundred and fifty years," the Prime Minister protested.

"Yes, and the Wizengamot of Magical Britain was an institution for five hundred, but I got rid of that," Harry rejoined. "I'm not changing this lightly," he continued. "I've thought about this for over a year. I've pondered both sides, read the journals of my ancestors, and consulted the laws of a dozen nations. There's no good reason for it anymore. We aren't revealing ourselves to muggles, for crying out loud. There are more magicals in Avalon than in all of Western Europe and the British Isles combined, and we're the only magical nation in the world with an organized military force. We lose nothing by revealing ourselves and gain much. I'm announcing our presence to the magical world on Saturday, and we'll be sending an Ambassador to the ICW on Monday."

"But, what about the influx of travellers?" the Prime Minister asked.

"What about them?" Harry asked. "People will be curious."

"But practitioners of dark magic…" the Prime Minister sputtered.

"Can be kept out," Harry stopped him. "Remember, the only ways in are by air, boat, or floo. I'm not planning on opening the wards to apparition or portkeys. The wards around Avalon are no less powerful today than they were yesterday or last week, last month, last year, last decade… Any dark wizard or witch who tries to come to Avalon will die, same as before. We just might have more try now, at least until a few fail to return home."

"I see your mind is made up, sir," the Prime Minister finally relented.

"It is," Harry acknowledged. "But don't fear. It is a change, but I think it will be good for Avalon and the world.

"Harry," Hermione said, poking her head in the door. "We've class about to start."

"I have to go," Harry informed the Prime Minister. "Thank you for stopping by."

"Good day, sir," the Prime Minister replied, and left stiffly.

"What did he want?" Hermione asked.

"Initially, he wanted to talk about better integrating the evacuees who remained into the population," Harry said. "But then he got wind that I was going to reveal the secret of Avalon to the world and he got a little rough."

"You're doing the right thing," Hermione said, allaying his fears.

"I know," Harry replied.

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Diagon Alley was thronged. It was packed to the brim with thousands of people in both magical and muggle dress. As she looked closer, she noticed that they weren't all people. She passed a group of centaurs. There were hoards of house elves looking nervously from corners. More than one goblin was standing in the street. It was the oddest collection of beings she'd seen in a long time.

There was a dais on the steps of Gringotts, just opposite the intersection with Knockturn Alley that was currently empty, but surrounded by what appeared to be muggle soldiers in camouflage uniforms with maroon berets. They were carrying rifles. At the doors of Gringotts itself was a small unit of Goblin warriors. Amelia Bones felt a twist in her gut. She pushed her way to the front, dragging her niece with her.

"Hello, Amelia," a woman greeted her once she'd reached the dais. Amelia wasn't surprised to see Augusta Longbottom and her son present. She was a little surprised to see them both dressed in muggle clothing. Neville was wearing a suit with a small crown lapel pin, while Augusta was in a skirt and blouse with a light jacket.

"Hello, Augusta," Amelia replied with her friendliest voice. "You wouldn't happen to know what this is about, would you?"

"I would, but Harry will be able to explain it better than I," Augusta replied.

"There's a lot of that going around," Amelia said sourly.

"Well, he is in charge," Augusta responded.

"If he's in charge, who put the soldiers here?" Amelia asked. She was getting too old to play these games.

"He did," Augusta said simply. The two women lapsed into silence. They were soon joined by the Weasley clan and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Hey Neville," Ron said. "Susan."

"Hello Ron," Neville replied. Susan nodded.

"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked.

"Not since Wednesday," Neville replied. Ron and Susan both looked at him in shock.

"Where did you see him Wednesday?" Susan asked.

"The airport," Neville responded. He couldn't say much more than that because of the vow. It escaped the others that he didn't specify which airport he'd seen Harry at.

"How is he?" Ron wanted to know.

"He seemed fine to me," Neville replied vaguely. He checked his watch, a fancy gold pocket watch he kept in his waistcoat. It was nearly ten.

"Do you know how he did it?" Ron pressed.

"It's his tale to tell," Neville said firmly. "I was merely a cog." Then he realized he'd said too much.

"You were there?" Ron asked, surprised and hurt.

"Along with Hermione and Luna," Neville allowed. "Well, Luna wasn't there for the fighting…" He saw Ron starting to get angry. "You don't understand, Ron. He wanted to get you too, but your family was too close to Dumbledore. He couldn't get you out without blowing everything."

"But Dumbledore…" Ron protested.

"Wasn't looking out for Harry's best interests," Neville concluded quietly. "Harry's path, of which Dumbledore was unaware, didn't fit into his version of how everything would play out. Dumbledore couldn't even begin to imagine the way Harry chose… the way he was born into."

"What's that mean?" Ron nearly shouted.

"It means Harry wanted to bring you and Ginny along, but couldn't," Neville tried again. "You're his best mate. He would often say how you'd have liked this or that…" Neville didn't reveal that such musings had faded over the months, replaced with spending time with Hermione or Neville and Luna.

"He only wrote me a few times," Ron sulked. "And he never said where he was, even when I asked."

"He couldn't, Ron," Neville said. "He couldn't risk your mum finding out and telling Dumbledore. In fact, I'm willing to bet that Dumbledore asked you to write Harry to find out where he was."

"So?" Ron asked.

"You just proved my point," Neville replied. Ron simply sulked. Neville turned his attention to Susan. "Have you ever been to the cinema?" he asked. Susan blinked at him.

"No," she replied. "What's that?"

"It's like a theatre and a wizarding photograph put together," Neville tried to explain. "It's something muggles invented. Would you like to go with me?"

Neville largely succeeded in keeping the nervousness out of his voice. He'd never asked a girl out before, and while he'd accompanied Luna when the four of them had gone to the cinema in Camelot, it hadn't really been a date. Luna was just a little too… odd for his tastes.

Susan Bones, on the other hand, checked a lot of boxes for Neville: she was loyal—as Hufflepuffs should be, she was a member of a light-sided family of some status, she was his age, she seemed normal and well adjusted, and she was cute. Neville, for his part, had grown considerable over the past few years, and was no longer the bumbling eleven-year-old that had first graced the halls of Hogwarts. He was now of average height, muscular, with close-cropped hair, a strong jaw, and sharp eyes. As the heir of a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he could be considered quite a catch.

"I think I would," Susan agreed after considering Neville for a moment.

"Great," Neville said, perking up. "I'll owl you tomorrow."

"OK," Susan smiled.

Just then, the door to Gringotts opened and Harry walked out alone. The Goblins stepped aside, and he made his way down the steps to the podium. He was wearing his blue field marshal's uniform, the same one he was crowned in. He was bare-headed, but wore a sash, his pilot's wings, and a sword belted to his side.

"Blimey, he's wearing Excalibur," Neville murmured to himself. Ron and Susan both gaped at him, then turned to gape at Harry. Harry paused at the podium, cleared his throat, and applied the sonorous charm to himself.

"People of Magical Britain," he began. "Voldemort and his Death Eaters are no more." The crowds cheered, a roaring mass of sound, bound and multiplied by the shops lining the street. Harry waved them down. "You deserve to know how it happened." So he told them.

He started with Tom Riddle, what he knew of the man's childhood, his time at Hogwarts, and his manufacturing of horcruxes. He continued by explaining the prophecy, and the meeting on Halloween 1981. He then explained about Dumbledore's reaction, and Harry's own time at Hogwarts, touching on the attempts by Voldemort to return.

"And so at the end of June 1996, I found myself accosted in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express," he said. "They were agents of a mythical land that was all too real. They had come for me." The people were hanging on his every word at this point. "You see, I was born Harry Potter, Crown Prince of Avalon." Harry paused to let that tidbit sink in. There was dead silence in the street.

"Avalon," Harry said again. "The land of Arthur and Merlin. It's a real place, an island like Britain or Ireland, lost to time. This was by design." He carefully described the history of Avalon as he'd come to know it, starting with the magical seafarers and the loss of Dumnonia. For an hour he spilled the secrets that had been held close for so long. The only thing he kept secret were the nature of Avalon's wards, and their power to protect the island nation.

"Once I was crowned King of Avalon, I set to work to right the wrongs done to Britain as best I could," Harry continued. "For I am a citizen of the United Kingdom and Magical Britain as much as I am of Avalon. You all matter to me, as much as the Avalonians across the sea.

"I started by rescuing those without the means to help themselves," Harry said. "Over the summer of 1996 I evacuated the muggleborns, squibs, and their families. I built them houses, neighbourhoods, schools, and businesses. They flourished in Avalon. Some have elected to remain, but many chose to return to the British Isles to continue here as they have before.

"With the muggleborns safe, I was able to begin planning to stop Voldemort," he continued. There were some gasps at the name, but not many. People were becoming desensitized to it. "My question was how. Magical Britain had a government; one which had been around for centuries. So long as it functioned, as King, I couldn't act. It is a longstanding tradition that Avalon doesn't involve itself in the internal affairs of other nations.

"When Hogwarts fell, and the last vestiges of the old Ministry ended, I acted swiftly," Harry explained. "I consulted with Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, and the President of the Republic of Ireland, to enlist their support. Then, I called Avalon to arms and invaded. The fighting lasted three days, with most of the important centres, such as Diagon Alley, the Ministry, and Hogwarts, retaken the first day. Voldemort was killed by my hand on the second. The third consisted of mopping up operations in remote areas.

"Over four hundred Death Eaters were killed or captured over those three days," Harry enumerated solemnly. "Avalon lost thirty-two dead, and one hundred five wounded. It is unknown how many British and Irish civilians lost their lives because of Voldemort.

"As rightful conqueror of Magical Britain," Harry continued, "and since both the proper government and usurper government of Magical Britain do not function, it falls to me to restore order to this nation. Therefore, I present you with a new constitution, creating a parliamentary democracy for Magical Britain, so that it may take its place amongst modern nations, both magical and muggle."

He pulled the papers that he and Hermione had laboured over the preceding week off a shelf inside the podium, and began reading. When he'd finished, he looked up. The crowd, as anticipated, looked stunned. Harry nearly laughed, as he'd never seen so many open mouths. Front and centre, Neville was smiling, flanked by his gaping friends.

"Now," Harry finished. "It falls on me to conduct the first elections. Therefore, I will form temporary parties. First, a traditionalist party, for those who hold to the old ways. Second, a centrist party, for those who wish to bridge the gap. Next, a progressive party, for social and economic progressives. Finally, a conservative party, for social and economic conservatives. For those who wish to appear on the ballot, raise your wand and speak the name of the party you wish to stand for. The first one hundred to speak the name of that party will appear on the ballot for that party, and their wand tip will light: grey for traditionalists, red for conservatives, blue for centrists, and white for progressives. In this way, you know who will appear. If you want to stand for election, cast now."

For a moment, no one moved. Then wands jutted into the air, and a cacophony of noise shattered the alley. In moments, it was over, and Harry waved for silence.

"Now that the ballots are set, please proceed to Carkitt Market, where you'll find polling booths where you can elect Magical Britain's first Parliament," Harry instructed. Heads swung over in the direction of Carkitt Market, where more soldiers waited.

It took three hours for everyone to vote. The shops of Diagon did booming business that day. Though Harry hadn't instructed them to, almost everyone waited for the results of the election to be posted. Harry, who hadn't moved from the dais, looked down at the note that appeared on the lectern. It listed one hundred names, as well as the party affiliation. Centrists won the majority, with significant minorities of progressives. Together, they made up four fifths of the new parliament. Conservatives took fifteen percent of the vote, with the Traditionalists sucking hind teat with five percent.

Harry reapplied the sonorous charm and asked for quiet. He proceeded to announce the results of the election alphabetically by last name, noting the person's party affiliation as he did so. He ended by announcing the percentages each party had achieved, again alphabetically by party.

"With the elections concluded, I thank you for your participation in the government of your nation," Harry said. "I would now like to speak with the winners. If they could make their way to the old Ministry Atrium, I would appreciate it." Then, without warning, he apparated away.

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He arrived in the Atrium, which still showed the scars of battle, despite constant repair work over the course of the past week. The statue of the wizard and other magical creatures had been removed. It had been too scarred—and offensive to Harry's sensibilities—to remain. Harry had replaced it with a statue of three Paras fighting, one of whom looked suspiciously like Hermione. A small plaque at the bottom commemorated the event, reading, "The Battle of the Ministry, August 31, 1997. On this spot, dedicated soldiers of the Parachute Regiment, Royal Army of Avalon, fought Death Eaters for the Freedom of Magical Britain."

Harry was admiring the statue when the first of the newly elected parliament arrived. Surprisingly, the last two of the new body arrived via the visitor's entrance. It turned out they were muggles. One was the spouse of a wizard, the other the father of a witch. Also present were a goblin and two house elves. He noticed the tell-tale golden eyes and shabby dress of a werewolf amongst the crowd as well.

As they gathered, everyone had eyes for Harry, yet none approached him. They hung back in groups, taking in the appearance of the Atrium. He noticed Madam Longbottom and Madam Bones engaged in hushed conversations off to the side. He was glad they'd been elected. Harry didn't recognize anyone else until Ted Tonks nodded to Harry from behind a group of witches.

When everyone was there, Harry began.

"Welcome to the new Magical British government," Harry said, smiling. "You will do much to shape how this government works in practice, and set new traditions for Magical Britain. The first thing you need to do is decide who speaks for you." Harry split them by party and had them elect party leaders. Augusta was elected the leader of the centrists, and Amelia was selected as leader of the progressives. Harry didn't know the other leaders, even by reputation. It was clear that the centrists and progressives would be working together, against the 'loyal opposition' of the traditionalists and conservatives.

"Madam Longbottom," Harry said. "We're going to need to take a little trip."

"I'm hardly dressed to meet the Queen," Augusta protested, guessing correctly that she was to be Prime Minister, as the leader of the majority party and coalition.

"Then you'd better transfigure yourself something nicer," Harry said. "Because that's where we're going." He turned to the rest of them. "In the meantime, you lot can head down to the old Wizengamot chambers. It's to be the new home of Parliament. I think you'll like what I've done with the place." He turned back to Augusta. "Do you trust Madam Bones to start cobbling together a government in your absence?"

"Yes," Augusta said, some of the gravitas returning. "Madam Bones, if you would lead the selection of a speaker in my absence, and begin consultations towards establishing the necessary apparatus of government, I'd be most appreciative."

"Consider it done, Madam Prime Minister," Amelia agreed. Harry rolled his eyes, hearing the playfulness in Madam Bones' tone. He then took Madam Longbottom's hand, and apparated her to the 1844 Room in Buckingham Palace. He poked his head out the door and spoke to someone Madam Longbottom couldn't see.

"We'll have to wait a few minutes," Harry told her. "The Queen just returned from Princess Diana's funeral at Westminster Abbey."

"The poor woman," Augusta observed. Harry nodded silently and sat, gesturing for Augusta to do the same. They passed the time chatting about how the government should be set up, with Harry voicing his opinions on the matter, and Madam Longbottom countering with other ideas. Harry was surprised that they agreed more often than not, and that Harry's ideas were largely acceptable to the ageing witch.

In the middle of their conversation the door opened, and the short, elderly queen entered.

"Harry, so good to see you again," the queen said as Harry and Madam Longbottom stood.

"Ma'am," Harry said, taking her hand. "My condolences. I'm sure this has been one of the most difficult things to suffer through."

"Another _Annus Horriblis_ ," the queen chuckled darkly. This close, Harry could see the red eyes. It wasn't surprising, but refreshing to see confirmed what he already knew: the queen was a human being.

I can understand that," Harry agreed. "May I present the newly elected leader of the Magical British government, Madam Augusta Longbottom?"

"A pleasure," the queen said, taking Madam Longbottom's hand.

"Your Majesty," Augusta began. "The pleasure is mine. It is one of the most thrilling moments of my life to meet you."

"It is my hope that we shall meet often during your term in office," the queen replied. "My door is always open to you. You need only ask. I hope to treat you as I would the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. You do remind me a bit of Lady Thatcher."

"We share a certain… determined outlook on life," Madam Longbottom allowed.

"You seem well suited for the job," the queen observed. She took a short look at Madam Longbottom and then stated formally, "I would like to invite you to take the office of Prime Minister of Magical Britain. Will you accept and form a government?"

"I will, ma'am," Madam Longbottom said. "Thank you." The queen nodded.

"Thank you, Madam Longbottom," Harry said. "Thank you for taking up this role, and working with the framework provided to you. Now, I think that Madam Bones could probably use your assistance in forming the executive ministries."

"Quite," Madam Longbottom said, nodding. "Your Majesties, if you'll excuse me." Then she apparated away.

"Magic is fascinating…" the queen muttered. "Even having seen it for years, it still amazes me."

"Ma'am…" Harry started.

"Harry," the queen cut him off. "We're both royalty. I've told you in private that you may call me by my Christian name."

"As you say," Harry deflected.

"My family calls me Lilibet," the queen pressed. "I'd like if you did the same."

"Ma'am…" Harry protested.

"Charlus calls me Lilibet," the queen revealed.

"I don't wish to appear disrespectful," Harry said. "I might be royalty, but here you're my monarch as well."

"I'm giving you leave to do so," the queen said. "It is my wish. I see you as a close advisor, as almost a member of my family."

"In that case, grandmother might be more appropriate," Harry observed with a cheeky grin, finally letting his guard down.

"Then you may call me that," the queen allowed. A smile crossed her face. "I can't help but feel that you think me old."

"Not so old," Harry replied. "Charlus is far older."

"Hardly," the queen laughed. "A decade perhaps, no more."

"Nearly two," Harry countered. "He's already a great grandfather."

"You're a good sport, Harry," the queen said.

"You too, grandma," Harry grinned back.

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The Weasley clan stepped off the airliner into the winter wonderland that was Camelot. It had snowed, and everything was draped in a sparkling carpet of white. Ron looked around before hustling into the terminal building. There was no need to collect their luggage, as the trunks had been shrunk beforehand and carried onto the aeroplane.

The terminal was bustling with people, or at least, bustling for a magical community. Many of the muggleborn families were flying out to Britain and Ireland to spend time with distant family. Ron couldn't believe his eyes. Outside of that September day in Diagon, he'd not seen so many magicals in one place.

A man in a black trench coat approached them from the crowd.

"Mr. Weasley?" the man asked Bill.

"Yes?" Bill replied.

"If you and your family could please step this way, I'll take you to the castle," the man informed him. Without another word, the Weasleys followed the man back out into the cold. Ron couldn't help but think how enamoured his father would've been with the place. There were cars everywhere. It looked just like the muggle world, except some people were doing random bits of magic out in the open. The man led them up to where an old limousine was parked at the kerb. The family piled into the expanded interior, fitting comfortably.

"Bloke sure knows how to roll out the red carpet," Fred observed, looking around at the posh interior of the car.

Ron said nothing, conflicted feelings rolling around in his head. He hadn't seen Harry since that Saturday in September when the war had ended. He'd written, and received replies, several of which had borne unwelcome news. He'd learned, to his chagrin, the Harry and Hermione were together. He, and his sister, had always thought that Harry would end up with Ginny, and he would woo Hermione. He supposed there was still time, but seeing as Hermione lived here, and Ginny didn't, and they didn't attend the same schools, that such pairings would prove most difficult.

In any case, Ron had resigned himself, however difficult that had been, to the reality. He'd instead set his sights on wooing other girls. He was currently working—with moderate success—on Hannah Abbott with the support and encouragement of both Neville Longbottom and his girlfriend Susan Bones.

It still rubbed Ron a little raw that Harry, Hermione, and Neville had become the heroes. It made it difficult at first for Ron to like Neville, who he saw as a usurper. But after a spectacular blow-up earlier in the year after which Neville had laid out the harsh truths to the boy, things had settled, and Ron found Neville to be an acceptable substitute for his best mate. Ron now occupied a comfortable position as Neville's sidekick. This came with the benefit that Neville regularly accompanied Susan Bones around the castle, who invariably brought her sidekick, and Ron's intended future partner, making his pursuit of her easier.

He'd largely been able to repress his feelings about Harry as Harry was no longer about. There was an adage about being out of sight and out of mind that Ron nearly abused through continued use. In fact, he only really thought about Harry or Hermione when one of them wrote to him or Neville, which was about once a month. That had made the invitation Harry had proffered to the Weasley clan to enjoy Christmas with him and his new family a rather jarring experience for Ron. Suddenly, he was confronted with the feelings he'd been repressing for nearly four months. He sighed.

One of the things they'd discussed in their correspondence was the degree to which Headmaster Dumbledore had influenced his mother, and by extension him and his sister. Ron had apologised, as had Ginny. They both made it clear that none of it had been their idea, and that several aspects of the headmaster's instructions had made them quite uncomforatble. He sighed again.

The car pulled to a stop and Ron looked out the window. They were in a large enclosed courtyard. Stone ramparts rose above them, pierced with turrets. They had arrived at Camelot Castle. The door opened, revealing Harry and Hermione bundled against the cold. Harry had a huge smile plastered on his face and Hermione was hanging on his arm. For the briefest of moments, Ron felt an indescribable rage, which he ferociously tamped down as quickly as he could. He would be happy for his friends. He put a smile on his face and exited the car.

"Ron, mate!" Harry said joyfully. "We've missed you." Harry left Hermione behind and wrapped Ron up in a bear hug.

"Erm…" Ron stammered, unsure how he was supposed to respond. "Your Maj…"

"You finish that bloody phrase, Ron, and I'll shove so much snow down your trousers your piss'll be frozen for a month," Harry threatened. "To you, and to any Weasley ever, I'm Harry."

"Thank Merlin," Ron sighed, relieved that at least the protocol issue had been solved.

"Welcome Weasleys," Harry said. "Hey Ginny." He hugged her too, just as enthusiastically has he had Ron. When he finished his hugs with the Weasley matriarch, Hermione moved in for her own hugs with Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley, which contained all the friendliness they always had.

"Well, come on, you lot," Harry said at last, having shaken hands with the twins, Bill, and Charlie. "The rest of the gang's inside, so let's get you lot settled, and then you can join in the fun!" Harry led them through the castle, pointing out the different buildings and passing through the gardens to his apartments.

"Look, Gred!" George pointed out. "Actual red carpet!"

"Excellent, Forge," Fred replied. "Good to see Harry knows how to take care of his guests."

"Yes, well, this is where I must leave you," Harry said in the entry hall. "Margaret!" he called. A house elf appeared. "Margaret is one of the elves on staff here." He turned to her. "Please show the Weasleys to their quarters, and lead them back here when they're finished unpacking."

"Yes, sir," Margaret agreed. Despite Harry's best efforts, he hadn't been able to get the elves to call him Harry. He had decided to continue the struggle as long as it took.

The elf led the Weasley clan upstairs to some empty rooms on the second floor. Everyone got their own rooms. Ron found his was actually a suite, with its own loo. He fiddled with the telly for a moment, marvelling that the thing worked with magic all around. Finally, Bill poked his head in.

"You ready yet?" he asked. Ron quickly turned out his pockets, depositing his shrunken trunk on the bed to deal with later, and shed his coat, which joined the trunk on the bed.

"Yep," Ron replied. The family trooped back downstairs behind the elf, Margaret. Ron thought it was too normal a name for an elf, but then repressed that thought. A lot had changed in the last four months. There were elves in parliament. They were normal beings, just like him. That was another change Harry was responsible for. The elf stopped back in the entrance hall, and opened a door into a large library brimming with people. Ron took one step inside and stopped.

"Hi Ron." It was Hannah. She was standing with Neville and Susan, and they were talking with Tracey Davis and Megan Jones. Behind them, Ron spotted Luna Lovegood, and a man who was dressed in such eye-watering attire that he could only be her father. He spotted Remus Lupin and Tonks in another corner, talking animatedly with some other people he recognized from his time at Grimmauld Place a few years ago. They were all from the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione and Harry were right by the door, waiting to welcome them.

"I can't believe it," Ron said, as he went up to Hannah, skipping past Harry and Hermione, who'd struck up conversations with Bill and the twins. His mother breezed past him to talk with the other Order members. Hannah gave him a quick hug. They'd started doing that recently. Ron was unsure what the protocol was regarding progressing to cheek kisses, but wanted to move things in that direction.

"Harry invited all of us," Neville said when Ron parted from his almost girlfriend. "He wanted to reunite old friends, and share the splendour of Camelot with us Brits."

"It's a pretty impressive place," Ron allowed.

"Except for Harry's family, everyone here either lives or did live in Britain," Neville informed him.

"I recognized a lot of people," Ron allowed.

"It should be a smashing Christmas," Neville said.

"Hey, what's floating over your head?" Tracey Davis interjected. Ron looked up. There was an unmistakable sprig of mistletoe hovering not ten centimetres over his head. He quickly looked around and saw the twins snickering next to Harry, who had a grin on his face. Fred was palming his wand.

"It looks like mistletoe," Susan said.

"There's nothing for it, then," Hannah sighed. "I guess I'll have to take care of that." Then she grinned, grabbed his face and kissed him soundly. Neville wolf-whistled, and Megan Jones gave a catcall. Despite going beet-red, it was going to be a good Christmas after all.

xxxxxxx  
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xxxxxxx

"You're going to be a daddy," Hermione said.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked hopefully. There was a note of wonder in his voice.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "The doctor confirmed it."

"That's wonderful, 'Mione," Harry said, rising and wrapping her in a gentle hug and a kiss. It hadn't taken long at all, which wasn't surprising considering how enthusiastically they'd been trying for a child.

Harry had proposed after they'd passed their A levels in the spring of 1998. It had been a long engagement, with Harry, and surprisingly, Hermione, attending the Royal Military Academy. When they'd graduated together three years later, they'd tied the knot. Hermione, subsequently Queen Hermione of Avalon, had then enrolled at the Royal University to sit for a dual masters in charms and social work. Two years later, she'd graduated, and the couple had started to seriously try for heirs.

Not that they hadn't been 'trying' before. The 'trying' had started even before their engagement, but following her attaining her masters, Hermione had stopped using the charms and potions and simply let nature take its course.

"I can't believe it only took a month," Harry wondered.

"Less than that," Hermione corrected. "The doctor said I was about a month along."

"So we got pregnant almost immediately?" Harry asked, shocked.

"It only takes one time," Hermione laughed.

"And we've done it quite a bit more than that," Harry agreed. "Do you want to ring up your parents?" After the wedding, the Grangers had decamped to a semi-detached residence near Dr. Granger's surgery. Major Granger, now promoted to Colonel and officially military attaché to Her Majesty's ambassador to Avalon, was in the Ministry of Defence more often than not, talking shop with Tom, whom he'd grown close to.

"I'll invite them to tea," Hermione replied, pulling Harry down onto the couch and cuddling up with him. "What are you doing today?"

"Little of this, little of that," Harry replied. He'd been reviewing the National budget. He was expected to make some recommendations, even if he had no real say in the matter. Harry also had a scheduled meeting with Avalon's representative to the ICW later, and another with the British Ambassador regarding trade.

The outing of the secret had actually gone much better than Harry had anticipated. Trade had increased five-fold. The economy was booming. Avalon had developed into both a trendsetter and a hot vacation destination in the magical world. His people adored him.

It meant an increased workload for Harry generally, though he did get back to Britain every few months or so. He had a fantastic working relationship with the Queen, and a healthy relationship with the new Magical British government. The Magical British Ambassador was actually expected… They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Neville poked his head in. …expected now, apparently.

"Hey Nev," Harry said. "Here for lunch?"

"You bet," Neville replied. He pulled Susan Longbottom in with him.

"Hi Susan," Hermione greeted from her spot.

"Hi," Susan said cheerily.

Five minutes later the four friends were sitting around the table enjoying roast beef sandwiches and crisps. It was an odd meal for a monarch, but Harry refused to change his habits to suit his station. He did have treacle tart a bit more than he'd had before, but that was neither here nor there.

"I do have a bit of business to do today," Neville said when the conversation had reached a lull.

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Neville said. "Justin Finch-Fletchley would like it if you could grease the wheels for him with the Foreign Ministry. He's applying for a license to export tellys and other electronics to Britain."

"I don't see why that should be a problem," Harry agreed. "He did graduate from the Royal University, after all. Business, I believe."

"That's right," Neville affirmed. "He's been making waves over in Britain lately. He opened the first magical department store. Called it 'Justin's'."

"I suppose 'Finch-Fletchley's' is quite a mouthful," Harry agreed. "We'll have to pop in the next time we're over there."

"Any idea when that'll be?" Neville asked.

"Either the next few months, or two or three years from now, I'd imagine," Harry replied, looking at his wife. She nodded imperceptibly. "It's yours to tell," he said.

"Oh, all right," she huffed, then brightened. "We're pregnant!"

"Congratulations, you lot," Neville and Susan said.

"Just found out today," Harry explained.

"You're actually the first people we've told," Hermione said.

"I imagine we'll tell a few more people at Frank and Tracey's wedding next weekend," Harry added. "After we tell Hermione's parents, of course."

"Then we'll have to announce it in Parliament, and the whole world will know," Hermione said with a smile.

"You were never destined for a normal life, were you?" Susan asked Harry.

"Not by a long shot," Harry replied happily. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

 **THE END**


End file.
